


The Dragon in Darkness

by jarethsdragon



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, F/M, Flashbacks, PTSD, Super Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:42:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 48,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25517467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarethsdragon/pseuds/jarethsdragon
Summary: You are a lieutenant in Overwatch and, to your surprise, Hanzo is joining your team.  No one could have known, could have warned you, of the darkness the Dragon of the South was facing.
Relationships: Hanzo Shimada/Reader
Comments: 47
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [abluey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abluey/gifts), [GingerNCoco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerNCoco/gifts), [Nathrezim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nathrezim/gifts).



Your first mission with Hanzo Shimada was enlightening.

The archer was in a secure position above you as you led your team through the underbrush surrounding the Talon camp. You had set up the mission yourself—you knew every possible route in and out—and you knew that you had everything covered. You’d spent hours with the maps and gone through thousands of simulations with Athena to cover every inch and every person.

In addition to roughly twenty individually picked agents as ground troops with you, you had Genji hiding in the canyon in the back—the most likely place that the majority of the Talon scum would retreat to—with a Bastion unit in the bottom of the canyon and another Bastion in a shallow cleft along the top. Jesse and a reluctant 76—he always seemed reluctant to join missions with a group—were positioned at opposite ends of the one nearby highway. And, as always, Winston watched from above.

You slogged through the mud, dodging the thick growth. The prize—the glowing Talon temporary base where they were making an arms and drugs and a deal was supposed to be going down—was almost in sight. Your team trickled through it all behind you.

Athena’s metallic voice whispered in your ear, “Talon base two thousand forty-two feet. Radio silence is advised.”

You clicked the tiny button on your earpiece that sent a soft “acknowledge/accept” signal. Twenty more tiny beeps sounded and then a pattern of three notes sounded in response—all agents accounted for and accepted.

It felt like a snail’s pace as you all crept closer and closer. Talon was supposed to be sending in the big guns for this deal, but without more than a few details gleaned from a bug in Maximilien’s communication equipment, it felt like less and less certain that this would be worth the manpower.

Finally, you were in sight. Your breath sucked in and you crouched extra low. The archer had a small team that should be in position by now and you needed to simply wait. Another low series of beeps—F sharp according to one musician on your team—and you had confirmation that his team had found sniper positions.

Then you saw it. 

Him.

Reaper ducked out of one of the geodesic buildings.

76 would give his eyeteeth—if he still had them under that mask—to be on this mission, if he had known Reaper was coming out. You slowly slid the switch on your pulse rifle, trying to muffle the click as you switched your rounds to what hopefully would pin down the slimy bastard before he poofed somewhere else. Winston swore that they would work, but who knew? No one had any of the Reaper’s DNA from after the... accident that made him into the living shadow he was. And any DNA that they did have, had long since decomposed into the ether, so they were left with computer simulations and what amounted to educated guesses on what would work.

Something was happening. More people were moving around, bringing in boxes and taking out boxes that looked almost identical and settling them on a collection of large trucks that were conspicuously labeled as a charity truck and a truck carrying Bimbo baked goods. (Trust Reaper to hijack a Bimbo truck—his file indicated that he loved the bakery’s doraditas and the rosca de reyes.) You were right—they were going to transport everything via the road rather than trying to go through the canyon or trying to negotiate an aircraft. They would go right under your snipers as well, then either Jesse or 76 would get them.

You set up your sights, square on the Reaper.

Your world was now the long tubelike view. You heard Athena beep one more time. Everything went still as you waited the ten seconds before that last four beeps signaled the attack. 

You squeezed the trigger just as agents popped up and you vaguely heard the shouts to freeze before shots began to light up the jungle. You saw the Reaper take the hit, saw the faint lightning as the special charge tried to neutralize him. Everyone leapt forward as he dropped to one knee and the Talon scum became confused as their heaviest hitter seemed to be neutralized. He still tried—full marks for determination—and fired his double rifles wildly as the shot kept crackling in his torso. He tried to teleport, but only managed to grow faintly translucent before the device crackled and flickered and he became solid again.

In moments, the attack had the base surrounded and the remaining Talon agents threw up their hands as your team stormed the base. Immediately, your team split into two—one grabbing the boxes and crates and the other starting to cuff the adversaries—as you began advancing on your prize.

“Gabriel Reyes—Reaper—under the authority of Overwatch, I arrest—!”

His gleaming red eyes fixed on you and he cursed at you. The device—Winston’s little gift—crackled again and he looked at it balefully. You fired the second device—your last one—into him and smirked as he fell in the dirt.

“I arrest you for charges related to terrorism, espionage, transport of illegal arms and weaponry, murder, attempted murder. You had the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be assigned to you.” You slid on the cuffs, hoping the big man would at last be contained. “You have the right to provide for your own defense. You have the right to refuse to incriminate yourself. You have the right to ask for these rights to be repeated to you.”

He growled and glowered up at you as you paused to reload your weapon. Two of your team helped him stagger to his feet. The damn bastard was deliberately being obtuse and unhelpful as he simply sank and forced them to drag him.

You shuddered and raised your rifle again. Slowly, you looked around—everything seemed secure and the Talon forces were all subdued. Two of your agents were driving the trucks away. Things seemed secure and you tapped your earpiece.

“Athena, signal all troops to meet at Delta point.”

The computer faithfully broadcast your command and you all kept alert as you waited for the snipers to come in. Genji and the Bastion units would be picked up by air transport. Jesse and 76 would be the last to be picked up once you had the trucks and all the cargo accounted for. And faithful Winston would be monitoring from above, double checking your performance.

You were sure this was it. The biggest catch in years, if you could just keep it going. Keep the agents alert and keep on top of the theater. Things rattled and your cargo team whirled to keep an eye on who was coming. The sniper team came into view and Athena rattled off their names as your command sensors picked them up.

“Winston here. Confirm status.”

You shifted your pulse rifle clumsily to one hand to tap the communicator. “Communications established. Winston—you’re loud and clear.”

You were going to pause long enough to pat yourself on the back, your eyes still locked on the Reaper, when you saw the flickers around the little device die. With a cry, you fired again, but it was too late and he disappeared with a sulfuric puff of smoke. You shouted again and your agents leapt back and forth to find cover.

“Winston—find the damned Reaper!”

“Scanning.”

You heard a shot and then a male cry and a thud. In your heart, you knew Reaper was gone already, but you still raced into the thick brush. Hanzo was at the bottom of a tall tree, his bow glowing as he scanned the jungle.

“Agent Shimada—what happened?”

He finally looked at you. “Lieutenant.”

“What happened?”

“Reaper, he appeared and fired at the treetops.” His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “He—is gone.”

You nodded and grunted at him. “He got away.” Touching your communicator, you barked, “Everyone. To Delta point. Let’s get this over with.”

It was almost too quiet after that. The Talon mercenaries knew they were caught—probably a few had expected it—and you repeated their rights to them a dozen times as they were loaded up in the prisoner transport. The trucks were loaded and the empty domes were destroyed. Even getting the drugs and weapons seemed unimportant after the rush of almost having Reaper.

76’s voice rumbled, “Lieutenant—what’s going on?”

“The big fish got away, but we got everything else.” You nodded as you began to get everyone moving. “We will report to point Echo.”

“Roger that.”

“Have prisoner transport and medical available.”

“Roger that.”

With a heavy sigh, you said, “Athena, begin exit protocols.”

“Of course.”

Things were quiet as your team wrapped up the mission. No one was laughing or joking now, but that would come when you were on your way back to base. It would be hours of work still, but, hey, a few more scumbags and criminals and drugs and weapons were off the streets.

You were exhausted when you finally managed to get on the transport back to the Watchpoint. Everyone was too tired to move and you expected a quiet ride back home. Athena was monitoring your ship and Winston was watching Athena’s monitors, so now seemed to be as good a point as any to take a deep breath and relax.

Your eyes were closed and your head was nodding when you heard a soft rumble. One of your eyes opened and you saw the archer standing there with his bow over one shoulder and his quiver at his waist. That made you frown slightly and then sit up.

“Agent Shimada.”

“Lieutenant. Request permission to speak.”

You watched as he shifted restlessly from foot to foot. His eyes met yours for only a moment before dropping. He bobbed into a bow made shallow by the narrow niche your seat was it. “Is something wrong?”

“No, sir.”

You couldn’t resist a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness.” With a rueful grin, you sat up and nodded at him. Of course, he was staring inexplicably at your steel-toed, standard issue boots, and didn’t see you. Instead, he shifted from foot to foot again and his fingers kept caressing and plucking at his bow. “Sure, Agent Shimada. What can I do for you?”

“Sir, I would like.... I would like to explain myself.”

You frowned slightly. Occasionally, it was a bit harder to determine exactly what he wanted—a slightly formal turn of phrase, an idiom that had apparently more meaning in Japanese than in English, a slight anachronism in the way he said something. You weren’t exactly sure what he felt he had to explain, but obviously it was important.

“Of course. Would you like to request an official record? Or would you just like to talk for a moment?”

He eyes went wide as he suddenly snapped widely staring eyes up at you. Then, in an instant, he dropped his gaze and gave you another little bow. “If I could... just explain myself....”

That was not an answer, but you nodded. “I can’t offer you more than a little bit of a seat.”

He shook his head anxiously, his tight topknot flickering in the dim lights of the transport. “I wanted to tell you.... I shot at him, but I... missed.”

“The Reaper?”

“I missed him. My arrow went through him and he vanished before I could draw another.”

You nodded slowly. “It happens. If it helps, I had him dead to rights and he still got away.”

“Sir.”

“I should have nailed him again. But hey—it’s nice that I’m not the only one.”

“Of course not, sir.” You let out a dry chuckle and his eyes glanced anxiously up at you again before dropping to look at your boots. “There was no way....”

You cocked your head and smiled. “Don’t worry. We’re all here. At least there’s a few more thugs off the streets, huh?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Was there anything else?”

“That is.... No, sir. Nothing else.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of... of course, sir.”

You took a second deep breath. “Hey... take a seat. I’ll slide a bit.” You slid against the wall and gestured towards the open bit of bench. “This was a very—and I mean very—long night.”

You could tell from the instant he took a step that things weren’t all right. His ankle rolled strangely and his shoulder seemed abnormally stiff. He made it to the bench and slid around restlessly. You weren’t going to say anything, but the rusty red smear on the wall told you to speak up.

“Holy hell, why didn’t you tell me you were wounded?” You leapt to your feet, whirling to pull down the closest first aid kit. “Hold on.”

He went pale and you saw him shudder. Immediately, he reached and clapped his hand over his shoulder tightly. “I have already bandaged it.”

“It’s still bleeding, Agent Shimada.” You pulled out the thick roll of bandages. “Hold still and we’ll get you set.”

He looked up at you with some kind of curious expression. “I will be fine.”

You smiled at him. “C’mon. I haven’t even touched you yet.” You paused long enough to open the package of bandages. “Would it help if I told you I was top of my class in first aid?”

“I will be fine. I have... additional supplies in my quiver.”

You tapped the medical kit and it lit up. “Can’t have bleeding in the transport. Biological contaminants or something.”

That made him bristle, sitting up straight and looking at you in the eyes. “I would prefer you save that for someone deserving.”

“More deserving?”

“Then, more in need.”

You stopped and looked at him. “I guess.... I could put it away. But, if you’re wounded, then... shouldn’t it be taken care of?”

He shrugged slightly. “There were some who needed it more than me.”

“They are being taken care of.”

His eyes said that he didn’t believe you. With a snort, you tapped your communicator. “Athena, query number of casualties and nature of injuries.”

A screen right across from where you had been sitting lit up. “Creating injury report. Please wait.” A wheel spun for a moment and then a report appeared. “No Overwatch fatalities reported. Casualties are as follows. 14 reports of contusions. 18 reports of abrasions. 3 reports of level 1 laceration. 1 report of level 1 head trauma with no concussion. 1 report level 4 laceration.”

He stared at the screen, his eyes growing wider and wider as Athena impersonally went through the list. You gave him a small nod and reached out to touch his shoulder. He jerked, recoiling from your hand.

“Hey.... you okay?” He shuddered so violently that you started to get alarmed. “Was there someone you wanted to know about?” You bit your lip as he kept staring at the screen. “Do you...? If you had someone you cared about on the mission?”

“No. Not... not like that.” His face turned red as he shook his head wildly. “I mean... my brother.”

“Oh. Well, he hasn’t reported since he got his Bation support units on the transport.” Hanzo looked a little alarmed. A lot alarmed. His face went pale and his hands went back to fiddling idly with the bow. “Hold on. As his next of kin, I will ask for you.”

You went back to the computer. “Athena, please report on the status of Agent Shimada Genji. Authorization as next of kin inquiry on behalf of Agent Shimada Hanzo.”

Athena was impersonal and flat as ever as she replied, “Please wait.” After a moment, the screen changed. “Please touch the screen pad to confirm identification.” You did and the computer beeped again. “Authorization complete. Creating injury report.”

The screen showed Genji’s name at the top, the date and then a blinking carat on an empty line.

“Athena, please confirm injury report,” you said. “Audio and visual display.”

“Please wait. Injury report confirmed. Agent Shimada Genji has no confirmed injuries. End of report.”

You turned to smile at Hanzo. “Look at that. He’ll live to snark another day.”

The archer turned blank eyes to you and, without him realizing it, his hand went back to clench around that same place on his arm. “I do not understand.”

“He’s fine. No injuries.”

Hanzo let out a breath of relief and sagged, bending almost double. You tapped the screen to close the connection to Athena and sat down beside him. His chest shook as he heaved beside you. You nodded—sometimes this happened to people. Even the most stoic person would have a point that they just couldn’t keep it up.

You waited for a couple of seconds as he seemed to be somewhere between coughing heavily and retching. Finally, you asked, “Hey... do you need a paper bag or something?”

He sputtered and looked up wearily at you with reddened eyes. “N-n-no.”

You nodded slowly. Everyone was just about at the end of their rope. “It’s been—what? Maybe thirty-six very long and very grueling hours?” He nodded slowly, his breath shakily sighing in and out. You took a breath and covered one of his fists with your hand. “And everyone is worn out.”

“I should not.... I should not be so weak,” he growled sullenly.

“Weak? No. You’re fine. We’re all just exhausted.”

His eyes were wide and he openly gaped at you. “You? You... are... exhausted?”

You nodded with a smile. “Yeah. Gonna sleep for a week.”

He smirked at that comment. His breath slowly got more regular. His eyes dipped to where your hand was on his. “I... apologize. I should not... not bother you.”

You gave him a nervous chuckle. “It’s fine.” You kicked out your legs and snuggled into the corner of the bench. “I’d rather take care of the team first. I couldn’t sleep otherwise.” His head snapped up to gape at you again. You grinned at him, hoping that you could ease those strained lines around his mouth and between his brows. “Is everyone else okay? Anyone else worrying themselves sick?”

He shook his head in a rapid motion that made his hair flap wildly. “No one else was... awake when I came through.”

“Okay. But they can come and ask if they are worried, okay?” You handed him the medical pack. “And anyone who needs this can use it. I’ll handle requisitioning another.”

He nodded and staggered up to go find someplace among the rest of the team. You stretched out and closed your eyes. Hopefully, the next thing you would see would be the Watchpoint. 

It was strange, though. He seemed to be hovering just at the corner of your vision as you got checked in. The medics lined up everyone and you were in the line just in front of him. Everyone wove as they marched forward and the medics did their scans and issued medic pack after medic pack. You looked over your shoulder at him as he flushed red before surreptitiously handing you the spent medic pack.

Mercy called you next. You jumped and gave her an anxious smile. “Hey.” The Swiss doctor nodded and you pulled out the pack. “Here.”

She looked at her report and then at you. “You were not listed as injured?”

“Nah. I was... I just had a muscle strain. It didn’t seem serious enough to bother with... until I sat down in the transport. I thought it was better safe than sorry.”

She took it and set it aside. “All right. Well, according to my scan, you’re good to go. Is there anything you’d like additional treatment for?”

“Just some sleep.”

Mercy gave you a sympathetic smile. “Well, we’ll discharge you. If your muscle strain reoccurs or if you are injured again, then you’ll need to return.”

“Okay. Have a nice night.”

She was already nodding over her reports again. Hanzo gave you a smirk and a nod before turning to answer her. You loitered about, waiting to see what happened. Of course, he said nothing, answering her questions in short, one word grunts. So, you walked out just next to him.

“She discharged you,” you started.

“Yes,” he sighed. He was silent for another length of the sidewalk before he whispered, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For not....” His free hand waved in a confused sort of way. “The medical pack.”

“Ahh. Sure.” You walked next to him in silence as someone else passed by around the two of you. “But you’ll have to go get checked out if there’s something serious. You know that, right?”

“It was a scratch.”

“Sure it was.”

He looked up at you and seemed to suddenly tense. Then, without another word, he turned at the next sidewalk intersection and disappeared between the base apartment buildings. You didn’t see him much the next day. Of course, you were sleeping most of it, but you did expect to see him the day after that. And still another day passed that you didn’t see him.


	2. Chapter 2

You had your own problems, though. When your report of Reaper hit the desks of the top brass, you had loads of questions to answer. Everyone was grilled to see if there was some kind of lead to trace. Some way to track down the elusive wraith one more time. And since you lead the team, you were there for every question.

But it ensured you saw him again. His name was finally called and he received the same battery of questions. He answered them all with the shortest possible replies. Not that he was impolite, but he was apparently not going to waste breath on more words than he absolutely had to. He had that strange posture, too—a faintly arrogant jut of the chin, a stiffness in the spine, a slight tilt of so that he seemed to almost be looking down his nose—that seemed to suggest he had long since been in charge of the universe.

It rankled the brass, too. Their questions grew more brusque. Their tone grew short and one of them tried to imitate that air of importance, but still, Hanzo had some kind of presence that they lacked. It was hard to describe, but it was still there, as if he wasn’t in a standard issue uniform, but some bespoke and tailored suit and issuing orders to mere lackeys. Of course, that made them even more irritated with him.

Thank goodness he was the last one. No really—thank goodness. You were sure that one of them was going to bust a blood vessel before they dismissed you both. You gathered your things and turned, surprised as he opened the door for you. Out in the hallway, you muttered a soft, “Thanks.”

He only nodded in that imperious way. You were both a fairly good ways down the hall before he let out a great whoosh of air and seemed to finally... bend. Or unbend since every muscle relaxed. It seemed to be almost a schizophrenic transformation.

“You okay?” He nodded and managed to give you a shaky smile. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“About what?” He seemed to jerk in alarm. His eyes darted around even though you were both in a basically empty hallway (except for the official, memorial portrait of Strike Commander Morrison in front of the flag). “What is it?”

You held up your hands lightly. “It’s okay, tiger. Just calm down.” You cocked your head, frowning and your brows furrowed together. “Nothing’s going on. Things were pretty tense in there and I just wanted to know if... you were doing okay.”

His eyes narrowed for a suspicious moment before he glanced pointedly at your rank insignia on your uniform. He seemed to shake himself as he straightened up to stand almost at full attention. “Nothing. Sir.”

You gave him a small smile. “If there is something I can do to help, please let me know.”

“Yes, sir.”

He spun and left you there and you didn’t see him again until an official briefing after lunch. Hanzo stayed in a back corner—because of course he did—and seemed absolutely disinterested in that royal prince pose. The few who noticed him—you included—were amused that some of the top brass were unsettled by his overwhelming presence. When Genji rose to his cybernetic feet and came forward to receive a commendation for heroic actions from a month prior, Hanzo managed to give his brother a smile and you saw him even unwind enough that you saw him wave a two-fingered V. The cyborg must have seen it, even though you were pretty sure that you weren’t able to see this back corner from up there, and he gave a bare-faced smirk and short nod to his brother as he got his small medal attached to the metal disc over his left chest with a magnetic clink.

Everyone crowded around Genji to offer congratulations at the end of the briefing and the crowd surged forward. You needed to get lunch before your afternoon meeting and so settled for a wide smile and a wave in his direction before disappearing out the back door. Who knows if he saw you, but you were going to congratulate him again later anyway. So, you took heart in the mostly deserted corridors to go to the cafeteria.

You were pondering the main course choices of baked fish, pasta primavera, and hamburger steak when you saw the tattooed arm of Hanzo push his tray alongside yours. Taking the pasta primavera, you murmured a quick greeting and went to the next station to pick up the chopped salad. You scuttled to the first table you saw and tugged the salad closer. Despite everything that could and often did happen with missions and personnel going in and out at all hours the whole year, somehow Overwatch consistently maintained whatever relationships and alliances and whatever they needed to get the most amazingly fresh and delicious vegetables.

Hanzo crept up next to you and you let out a little sound of surprise as he slid his tray on the table. His face was tight and strained as he pulled out the chair and sat down beside you. You moaned inwardly as he looked up at you over the trays.

“Can I help you?”

“Genji.”

“He was at the conference room when I left.” You frowned at his strained face. “Is something wrong?”

He flushed slightly and grunted, “Yes. He was there when I left as well.” He took a token bite of his salad and it seemed to crunch abnormally loudly for a moment. “However, I heard that he was going on a mission next week?”

You shrugged. “I am not in charge of anything in that time frame, but I believe that there is something going on next week.”

“He is going to be there.” Hanzo poked at his food again. “Who would know about the mission?”

“Not me.” You stared at him as he stirred things around on his plate restlessly. “I suppose that you can ask around, but if it is next week, there isn’t anything that isn’t already planned and accounted for.”

“I am too late,” he sighed with a heavy puff of air. “I cannot volunteer to come along.”

“You wanted to go along?”

His cheeks turned red and he ducked his head to stare at his fork. “I... am supposed to protect him.”

“Protect... Genji?”

He turned even more red and his voice dropped to a hoarse growl barely above a whisper. “It was what my father wanted.” You were entirely perplexed and stared at him with a bewildered expression. “It was the... last thing he asked of me—to protect him.”

“Ahhh....” That made sense—up to a very strange and confusing point. “Well... I can ask for you, but there’s nothing to be done about it now if the mission leadership decides that nothing is to be changed.”

That made his face clear up and forced him to give you a half smile that made him look years younger. “If you could, I would be... grateful.”

“Sure. Can I send you a message....?” You pulled out your phone and paged through the appointments. “How about just after dinner?”

He nodded in that butterfly quick way that children accepting gifts would nod. “Thank you.”

You wolfed down a few more bites of everything as you tapped and tapped to add the reminder. “Well, I have to get going. See you this evening.”

After you managed to get a more leisurely dinner—chopped salad with a quarter of baked lemon chicken—you sent a brief message to the archer. Nothing could be done. The leadership was adamant that there were to be no changes. Hanzo would be disappointed, but what else were you to do? It wasn’t like you had the final say! Nothing happened—to your surprise—for the entire week. You were half expecting the archer to be raising hell, but it seemed that he had accepted the decision and moved on. You took deeper and deeper breaths that this was blowing over and that you had done the right thing.

As such, you were quite comfortable with the archer and his odd request in the back of your mind as you sat down with a bowl of home popped corn and a soda, ready to watch a movie marathon. There was a very loud knock at your door and, not expecting anything amiss, you answered the door in your very basic sweats.

Hanzo was on your doorstep, his cheeks flushed and his face entirely washed out. His hair dripped around his shoulders in thick, ebony trails that made him look like a bizarre, gender-swapped fairy tale—skin pale as snow, hair black as ebony.... His skin gleamed around the tight muscle shirt and his sweat pants skimmed over him in a way to make a model jealous. He had a curious sort of sandals on over split toed-socks, and as soon as you opened the door, he began shifting from foot to foot in a restless sort of way like a caged panther. He wore a sort of cloth belt with a gourd flask tied above it to one hip and a curious, carved box looking thing dangling from a cord on the other hip.

“Hanzo. How nice to see you,” you greeted. Hopefully that was warm enough, because he snapped to attention and gave you a bow that seemed far more formal than either of you were. You returned the bow despite the fact that you were certain that it was somehow disrespectfully clumsy. “What is going on?”

His eyes went down to your feet, and his voice became soft. “I need.... You... are—. Were....”

You smiled at him and glanced around, saw that no one else was around, and then waved. “Come in. I wasn’t doing anything that can’t wait.” He rolled to the balls of his feet, as if he expected an attack and walked into your apartment. Inexplicably, you felt the need to look around again and again you saw no one else. Pulling inside, you looked at him. “So, what’s on your mind?”

He seemed quietly amazed at your apartment. You had a few things around—a few pictures of friends and family, a nice picture in a cheap frame, a cheap blanket on your couch that you got simply because you loved the colors—and your apartment was clean, but it was not up to the quiet, almost open-mouthed awe as he silently took it all in. You waited patiently as his eyes went to every corner—from the sunny yellow oven mitts hanging on the wall, the silly pictures, your slippers as they peeked out from under the couch, the fiesta colored bucket of popcorn and your random collection of throw pillows that piled on the couch and the two chairs to the standard issue tan carpet, the geometric silver lamp on the end table, and the standard issue weapons-safe tucked off to one side.

Then, his eyes went slowly down to his own feet in their curious sandals. It seemed that he was contemplating his own appearance as he turned red and then looked up to you. He looked back at the slippers and then at you and finally he whispered, “In my country, it is considered polite to remove one’s outdoor shoes.”

“Oh, of course! Please... feel free.”

He shuddered and closed his eyes for a long moment before reaching down and removing them. He set them aside in that neat and precise way that echoed with a thousand years of culture and tradition. Slowly, he straightened up and looked up in quick glances at you.

“Please.... I... had no where else I could go.”

Well, what were you supposed to do with that? You waved at the living room and he tiptoed over to a chair and swept up the throw pillow to perch on it. Walking over, you turned off the paused movie and sat on the couch. “What can I do for you?”

“I... I-I am....” He turned wildly red in the face and growled as he looked away from you to a different corner of the room. “I am.... It is Genji.”

“Genji? Isn’t he out on his mission?”

“He is.”

“And there’s been bad news?”

He shook his head wildly. “I would prefer bad news to no news.”

You nodded slowly. “Of course, it is hard to not to hear anything, but I believe that he should be back tomorrow morning.”

He shuddered and gave you that pale-faced, haunted look you were coming to know well. “He is alone.”

“He has a team of fellow agents with him,” you offered quietly. On impulse, you gently touched his hand. “I am sure that they will be sure that he will be supported and that they will keep him safe.”

He clapped his other hand down on your hand on his. “It is... the first time he has gone out alone. I have always volunteered to join and most of the missions can squeeze in a sniper.” He took a shuddering sigh and nodded slightly. “I have been watching over him since I joined Overwatch.”

Your head seemed to melt. “It must be hard, but... I feel like he will do fine.”

Haggard, wet eyes met yours in desperation. “Do you... really?”

You nodded again. “Of course. And if anything happens—.”

“Things always happen!”

“And I think that he will be the first to get medical help.” You tried to joke, “Besides, if anything does happen to him, Mercy will never let us hear the end of it. She’d never forgive us for messing up her finest work.”

“Mercy?” he snorted, bent over your joined hands. “She... takes care of him.” He shook his head and his long hair writhed in the air. “But even she cannot hold out against death.” There was a long gasp for air. “My father told me to take care of him.” You jerked to feel the first tear hit your arm. He shook his head, his eyes tightly closed. “I should not—.”

“Should not what?”

Another pair of tears dripped down his cheeks and his hands both tightened. “I should not be weak. I should not be... like this.”

With a sigh, you reached out and patted his bare shoulder. “It will be all right. He will be back and irritating everyone tomorrow.”

“I am too weak. I cannot protect him.”

You shook your head. “He will be fine.” He nodded blindly, accepting your touch with the uncertain trust of a wild animal. “I am sure that you will be wishing him gone tomorrow night.”

He shook his head again, more slowly this time. “I am supposed to be protecting him. How can I do that when I am here?”

You nodded, emboldened by his shuddering acceptance. Very slowly you stroked his shoulder. He rocked ever so slightly, pressing into your fingers. There were long moments that he stayed bent over your joined hands, rocking against your gentle fingers. Finally, you whispered, “Would you... like to just wait for him?”

He slowly raised bloodshot eyes to you and you swallowed heavily at the thick, wet trails going down his cheeks. “I... should not be... bothering you.” He pushed himself mostly upright—as if he was pushing up the weight of the world. “It is... nothing.”

You were going to say something, but he snorted and let go of your hands simply to wipe his face. “I should not be so weak.”

“It is not weakness.”

“It is... unmanly, then.”

You barely resisted the distinct and immediate urge to smack the back of his head. Instead, you simply shook your head. Macho seemed to breed around here like weeds in a field. Finally, your eyes happened to catch sight of the popcorn. “Why not stay here until he arrives?”

“Nani?!”

You felt some small sense of victory as his eyes went wide and shot to yours. “Why not stay here until he arrives? I won’t get told the exact details, but the command link does let us know when teams have returned.”

He gave you a shaky smile and a desperate nod. “If... I could just know that they have returned....” He let out a long breath. “That would be a relief.”

“So we do that, then.”

He was going to object, you knew it before he said anything. “If you could just let me know. If I could just meet him when he gets back—that would... be.... It would be a relief.” He flushed darkly and anxiously glanced around your apartment again. “I swear I will not... be such trouble for you again.” Then he let out a bitter chuckle. “I suppose that I could not convince you of that, but I will not....”

“It’s fine,” you murmured in reassurance.

“I am in your debt.” He gave you a sort of low bow that hid his flaming cheeks. “Again.”

You tried to smile, but it felt like it was out of place in the face of his solemn and bulldog-faced stubbornness. So, instead, you picked up your remote and began flipping through the night’s selection of movies. He seemed to be trying to smile, but the moment you even looked at his face to see if he wanted to watch one thing or another, he visibly switched to a poker face. Finally, you simply let whatever movie you landed on to play.

It seemed that luck was with you. You randomly landed on a fantasy movie that you hadn’t seen before and you settled back to watch elves and a rather strange looking orc go off to find the magic sword that would defeat the overly large demon. It was nothing more or less than a special effects showcase, but the lack of plot was actually a point in its favor. You were glad that it was not a complicated or involved plot—much to your surprise—because you were giving most of your attention to the man with you.

At first, he was irritable and restless and shifted every few moments. You finally offered him a drink—whatever he could find in the fridge—and when he came back, he sat on the other end of the couch. He sat down and managed to get comfortable, but every small noise such as the refrigerator rattling, steps outside your door or the small snap when your downstairs neighbor slammed his door and he would glance around anxiously. Then he would glance at you, see that you were simply laid back and relaxed, he would sit back and watch again.

Finally, you looked at him and murmured, “Is this okay? I mean, do you want to watch something else?”

“Oh... my... my apologies.” He settled back again and stared fixedly at the screen. “I am fine.”

You nudged the bowl of popcorn closer to him. “He will be back soon.”

Agonized eyes looked over at you. “I... I cannot help but.... So much can happen. So much can go wrong.” His hands gestured restlessly as if he were dropping something and fumbling to catch it. “If I were there, at least I could be sure that he had cover.”

Your eyes drifted over his face. “You look... exhausted.”

“I have worried about this for days.” His voice dropped as if he was whispering secrets. “I do not think that I have rested well this entire week.” His cheeks colored slightly. “If I... offended you, I apologize.”

Your voice dropped as well. “It is fine.” He gave you a snort and a short shake of his head. “It really is okay to be worried about your brother.”

You prayed that it would be fine. The archer’s jittering was wearing you out, honestly, but he seemed so desperately on the edge you didn’t have the heart to kick him out. Finally, you pulled out your tablet and set the thing to ring at full volume when the alert for the returning team sounded. His eyes followed your hands and then seemed to jerk back to the screen. Still, it seemed to be good thing. His eyes could drift to the blank screen and then up to the movie without effort. It made the time pass a little more smoothly, but there was nothing else to be done but wait.

You popped more corn and dug out two more sodas as he selected a new movie. You settled the refilled bowl on your lap and got ready to watch what you thought was a samurai cowboy picture. He was sprawled wearily on his end of the couch as you munched popcorn. You paid only a fraction of your attention to the movie and less to your snacks.

You were paying so little attention that you weren’t even sure who the villain and who the hero was when your tablet lit up and rattled with a noisy alarm. Hanzo leapt up and snatched it up, scanning the locked screen notification. After only a few seconds, he looked up and handed it to you with an almost unintelligible apology.

You took it with a smirk and unlocked it. “Have a seat—I need to log in to get any details.”

He perched lightly on the very edge as you scrambled around to get your device logged in and to get the full notice. You felt a vague trill of alarm up your spine as he locked his unblinking, laser focus on you. Your every move was being strictly recorded, filed away and analyzed as he watched you. Finally, you got the report up on your tablet and you dared to scan it before you said anything.

Finally, you let out a breath of relief. “The mission team is returning.”

He leapt up to his feet to stand right up against you. “What is the casualty report?”

You snorted uncomfortably and backed off a few steps. “Hold on. There’s going to be a minute or two until they upload it.”

He took a shuffling step back and flopped down on the couch again. He began folding and refolding his fingers as if he was praying. You took a seat as well, waiting in nauseating tension for the casualty report to return. He kept going through the same repeating pattern of folding his fingers and mumbling over them as you both counted the seconds until the second alert.

You read aloud, “Casualty counts. Level one injuries: three. Level two injuries: three. Level three injuries: zero. Level four injuries: zero.” Your breath whooshed out and your whole body seemed to slump. “So, the worst he has is a bruised knee or banged finger or something like that.” Hanzo let out a deep moan and his body sagged into your couch. “You’re in the clear, big brother.”

He gave you a smile and a nod. “That is good news.”

You sat down on the couch beside him. “They are still about an hour out.” You picked up the remote. “We have enough time to finish the movie before you meet them.”

He smiled—a real smile that made his eyes light up—and nodded. “That would be... nice.”

You both turned back to the movie and both of you had a far easier time focusing on it now. You were staring at the samurai cowboy unsheathing his sword for the almost-final fight when you felt a warm thump on your shoulder. Eyes closed, Hanzo’s head rolled and he let out a deep sigh as he body wriggled deeper into your couch.

By the time that the samurai cowboy went off into the too-pink sunset, Hanzo was almost snoring—more of an unconscious and throaty purr than a snore—and completely unaware as you turned off the movie. He was adorable like that, relaxed and asleep and at ease.

Ever so gently, you reached and brushed some hair out of his face and tucked it by his ear. He didn’t move, didn’t change the steady breathing. For some strange reason, you were surprised by the silky smoothness of his long hair. On impulse, you stroked it again and brushed it over his shoulder.

You played some stupid game on your tablet as he slept there, waiting for the team to arrive. Truthfully, it was comforting in some new way to have him simply there, beside you and apparently comfortable and relaxed. It felt special and new that he was actually relaxed.

Unfortunately, your tablet let out another of those rattling alarms. He opened his eyes slowly, one hand feeling blindly around as if he was searching for something. When his hand gripped your thigh, you chuckled that he jerked up, fully awake and alert. His face flamed and he pulled back away from you.

“I am... terribly sorry.”

“No problem.” You waved your tablet and showed him the alert. “But you’re due in D hangar.”

“Oh,” he sighed. “Of course.”

He dusted himself off and hastily set your pillows back. As he was tugging on his sandals, he looked over to you and nodded, “Thank you. For... ahh.... Just... thank you.”

“It’s okay. Go make sure he’s okay.”

And he disappeared out your door.


	3. Chapter 3

You assumed that everything was all right—you saw Hanzo walking with Genji somewhere the next day as you ran to a meeting. Hanzo was scowling and Genji was laughing and they ambled on without any apparent injury. You felt satisfied on a deeply personal level that this seemed to be resolved, even if there was a slight nagging feeling that something was.... Unsatisfied seemed to be the word.

You were surprised a month later to find a stack of papers with a thick manila folder on your desk. You picked up the the stack and began paging through the transfer paperwork. If there was one thing Overwatch was good at—it was producing entirely too much paper to document every slight little thing. And as a lieutenant, you were just starting to climb the mountain of paperwork, too.

You kept going through the transfer paperwork—the previous commander’s approval to release the agent, a glowing if somewhat generic recommendation to you, some kind of audit trail of the approval process. It actually wasn’t until the fifth or six page that you got the name of the one who was transferring.

No....

You whipped open the folder and saw the introduction page with Hanzo’s stock picture on it. The transferral of course listed everything in startling and incredibly sickening detail. Morbid curiosity kept you reading long after the janitors had come through with vacuums and emptied the trash. You read the dossier of his father—the infamous Sojiro Shimada, called “The Demon Dragon”—and the heavily redacted information of Genji. You read the thick pile of papers collected and translated police records of the “Shimada Scion” with the black and white grainy pictures of him with placards of numbers and characters and a sarcastic smirk. Next was a police report—again redacted—on the death of Genji. There was a break of three years without any new information, then began a series of investigations in Hanzo’s whereabouts. Coupled with those investigations were newspaper clippings and papers detailing mysterious killings of yakuza gangs—whole families of them. Then a full stop and a sudden couple of letters that detailed exchanges of pardon and... considerations. Each one was decorated with a wild and bold series of Japanese characters and then exclamation points that obviously translated to “Fuck you” and each had a wild tearing hole as if someone had rammed a knife through it. One of them had an obscene drawing.

Why had this happened to you?!

You kept reading the damning pile. After each page, you wanted to stop. You begged yourself to stop. But you kept reading. There was a short letter of recommendation from Genji and Zenyatta that Hanzo be allowed to join Overwatch. There was his first year evaluation—listing him as an alcoholic, brazenly arrogant, prone to shooting first and to disappearing on the battlefield only to pop up somewhere else with the target acquired entirely out of sync with the plan. His next year’s evaluation indicated he had been recommended to a therapy group along with a note that eight months in therapy he had left and never returned. There was a formal complaint that his direct commanding officer wanted him to transfer, along with his refusal. There were two written complaints from Genji that Hanzo was following him everywhere.

You felt nauseous after the pile of papers were scattered around your desk. What the hell was going on? He had been put into a sort of hodgepodge group that effectively was under no one and anyone could pluck up for one time missions. Oh, he had a commanding officer of sorts and they produced the necessary paperwork with the apparent minimum of contact possible.

Now, he was your direct report.

You were going to have him all to yourself.

You accepted the transfer. There wasn’t much you could do about it, either—not with everything already signed and registered and dealt with. You would be stuck with him until you managed to get enough official favors and weight to give him to someone else.

The strange thing was that now that you had him, you did see him at your meetings, at the required training, but not at any of the happy hours, the meet-and-greet when you got an actual recruit. He was there at every required function—the official things that every person with an ounce of sense and loyalty to Overwatch went to. He lingered in the back of the room each time, his eyes following you but offering no comment.

And since things could only get stranger, a few days later your computer let out a ding and you looked up to see that it was Hanzo’s birthday in a week. You pulled out your box of random cards—a collection of birthday cards, sympathy cards, congratulations, whatever—and began sorting through them. The only one that seemed at all appropriate was one that featured a cartoon dog dressed like a ninja. Most everything else seemed out of place or completely sarcastic—cartoon birds surrounding a nest, a huge crowd of indeterminate people holding up a cake, a group of aliens celebrating. They all seemed to be about families and friends gathering around to celebrate—and thus were entirely inappropriate. 

To be honest, the only thing that seemed appropriate would have been on thick, ivory card stock with a thin frame of gold leaf and embossed best wishes for his day.

This is what you had—a cartoon ninja dog—and you had a week to get it around to your other teammates. You scrawled a generic greeting and birthday wishes and put it in the folder with the checklist so everyone had a chance. With a harried frown, you put it on the next person’s desk with the hope that it would get around. They usually did get around, so there was probably little to worry about.

Probably.

The card was the last thing on your mind a week later when it was dropped back on your desk. You picked it up and opened it to look at the checklist. Everyone had checked it, but only three people had done more than write their initials on the card. You decided that it was... enough for a start. No one checked the signatures or anything on a work birthday card, right?

The card was almost barren of actual sentiment. Everyone else got at least ‘Happy Birthday’ with every signature. That felt wrong—very wrong. You ran out at lunch and, for lack of a better idea, found him a lovely scarf of alpaca wool and a thick candle scented with sandalwood vanilla. As a last minute impulse, you got a bag of tiny KitKat candies and sprinkled them in. The store had a plain paper bag with string straps and and a curly ribbon pompon to stick on it and that was that.

At the next morning meeting, you went through your announcements—a new mission coming up, fitness challenges, a new course on dealing with security threats through social media—and then you pulled out the card. With the quietest possible announcement, you handed him the card. He flushed and nodded and gave a half-wave to everyone as they watched in silence.

“Happy birthday, sir,” you murmured. Everyone clapped stiffly. “All the best and we’ll do lunch.”

The team rose and began shuffling around, eager to get on with their day. He stood there, just watching you as you picked up your tablet and papers. Finally, you managed to get your things together and stood to face him.

“It is... all right,” he whispered low.

“What?”

“It is... all right. I do not actually expect you to... dine... with me.”

“You... don’t?”

He nodded with a sigh and opened the card to examine it. Dispassionate eyes looked at the few signatures before his thick, rough finger traced yours. “I do not expect... more.”

“Er...okay, but I need to give you your gift,” you mumbled.

He gaped at you, his breath hissing in shock. “A... gift?” He looked around with a suddenly grim expression and snorted, “You are surely jesting.”

“Jest?” It took you a moment to understand his slightly anachronistic words. “No, not joking.... I have a gift for you.”

He shook his head with that same grim smile. “Very well.” He shrugged and picked up everything. “I suppose a joke will help everyone.” Your gaze was confused at best and he grimly shrugged. “Perhaps this time, if I am the fool once or twice, then I may at last be one of your team.” He straightened his shoulders and pointed to the door. “Lead on.... sir.”

You led him to your office to pick up the bag and hand it to him. The archer stared at the thin straps of the bag over his finger and the pouf of curly ribbon strands that caressed his knuckles. He stared at the bag, over and over, tilting it this way and that before gently rocking the bag by the straps as if to test the weight. Then, he started again, examining the thin straps again.

You finally asked, “Ummm.... Maybe I did something wrong? Maybe Japan doesn’t do birthday gifts?”

A tenor voice behind you both answered. “Hey, did I miss the party?”

You looked over and saw Genji standing there with a long, flat box wrapped in red paper and with a brilliant purple envelope stuck to it with silver duct tape. Hanzo nodded with that same, solemn expression and gave him a shallow bow.

“Genji,” was all he said.

The younger man simply laughed. “Always a grump, anija? I wanted to give you a birthday gift—but I see someone else has taken my thunder.”

You bit your lip at the sudden tension. You couldn’t figure out what it was—it certainly wasn’t the normal banter you would expect between brothers—but you tried to diffuse it. “I didn’t realize that this would cause a problem....” Genji simply gave you one of his merry smile and Hanzo looked up at you with a shell shocked expression. “I... err, I apologize. If this has caused a problem—.”

Hanzo shrugged. “It is not.” He took the box and nodded absently. “Thank you, Genji.”

“Sure thing, anija. Happy birthday.” He gave you a wink and a thumb’s up. “And, hey, get back to what you were doing. Don’t mind me.”

With a “whoo-hoo”, he whirled on his heel and waltzed away with a knowing smile on his face. Hanzo stared after him with a vaguely sad expression—it had to be sadness that made his eyes so wide and so tense and pale. Whatever he was feeling, the complexity of it flickered in his eyes as he spared the red wrapped box a glance and went back to gently rocking your bag in his fingers.

You whispered, “Do you... need a moment?”

He jumped, his shoulders bunching as he looked at you. “I beg your pardon?”

“You seem to be.... Maybe you are upset?”

He looked down at the red box and sighed. “It is... nothing I suppose.”

“Umm... do you want to open your gifts?”

He put the box aside—propping it against the nearest piece of furniture—and gently stroked the bag in a blooming wonder. “I... am very intrigued.”

You let out a relieved sigh. “So... which one do you want to open first?”

His eyes went to you and crinkled slightly. “There is no question.” He waved at the box absently. “That is a box of traditional bamboo no with an assortment of ne.”

You nodded slowly, your eyes wide. “Umm.... Okay....”

For a moment, he paused and stared at you. His voice cracked slightly and he whispered, “You... do not... understand?” When you gave him a shaky grin and shrugged, he smiled. “I... forget sometimes that others... do not understand.” With exaggerated care, he set the bag on your desk as if he was setting down a Ming vase in an art exhibit. Taking out a slender knife from some hidden place in his clothes, he slit the red paper and pulled it away. There was a plain cardboard box that had Japanese characters stamped on it. Efficiently, he pried open the box and you stared at the bamboo sticks that were shipped with the tips on each side pushed into a square of styrofoam. Then there was a small cardboard box that he popped open and spilled out a collection of metal pieces. “There it is.”

You stared at the assorted metal in your hand. “Okay. So... what are they?”

He worked out piece of bamboo and plucked up a metal piece. “This is the no. It is made from yadake bamboo from Kanto. It is baked in a kiln and then aged for 3 years and is custom cut for each kyudo archer. This metal piece is called the ne and you can see that it is shaped to fit on the no.”

You stared as he handed you what was obviously a half formed arrow. He touched the other end of the shaft. “I have to make my own hazu that are shaped for my bowstring. You might call it a nock for a Western arrow. I also am continually having to find sources for hane and thus have to do my own fletching.”

“Hane? Feathers?”

He nodded with a huge smile on his face. “You do understand. The hane are about fifteen centimeters and generally are the tail feathers of large birds. Of course, this can be terrible for the bird’s health and the birds are often endangered. I have tried to use goose or swan feathers but they often are not in stock. I can sometimes find the feathers through sports stores or through craft stores for people who make bird decoys, but often—every other year or so—I have to find somewhere new.” He gestured picked at the wrapping and showed you the envelope—which was duct taped shut. “This is a gift certificate to the latest store that I have found to order the feathers.”

You stared at the thick silver tape on the seam of the envelope. “Wow.... I can’t say whether that is amazingly thoughtful to go get these... items or if he’s a jerk for duct taping your card shut.”

That made him chuckle as he began putting the arrowheads back. “It is what he gets every year.” He shrugged as he closed the box of arrowheads and slid it back into the larger shipping box. “It is nice that he remembers, I suppose.”

“But... you don’t seem like you are happy?”

His eyes went up to you. “I would... prefer... to not discuss it.”

You nodded and shrugged. “If you say so.”

His eyes lit up as he grinned and he reached for the small bag. Again, he examined the outside and began stroking the sides and rocking it back and forth. “This... is....”

You picked up the big box and the card. “It is a happy birthday gift.”

“From you?”

“Uhh... yeah.” The weight of the box shifted strangely and you let out a sound. “But before my office is flooded with arrowheads, can we take this to your place?”

“To... my place?”

“Well, it would be a shame for all this to be crunched into my carpet.” He nodded with a smile. “So, I’ll help you take it to your place.”

“Of course.” His face flamed red. “Th-th-thank you.”

He led you to his apartment—thankfully not far—while he kept stroking the bag and winding the ribbons in his fingers. His face was alight and he seemed to be like a child trying to guess what his gift was as he walked. When you got there, his apartment was spotless and sparsely appointed in a way that seemed both relaxing and elegant. There was a trio of flat pillows around a wide square table that sparkled with smooth lacquer and what had to be an exhausting amount of polishing.

You settled the long box on his low table, dropping to one knee to try to avoid simply dropping it. You looked up at him in shock to realize that he had taken off his shoes at the door and hurriedly plopped down on the floor to pull yours off. Despite your flushed cheeks and little squeak of embarrassment, he simply put yours carefully beside his own before kneeling elegantly down on another cushion with your simple bag placed in front of him.

You smiled at him, hoping that your rather hurried and plebeian gift wasn’t out of place. His whole apartment was hushed and filled to the brim with what appeared to be Oriental antiques. There was a small stool in front of an apothecary chest with many small drawers of all sizes. The primary wall decoration was a scroll on the wall of beige bamboo paper with a trio of bamboo stalks painted in ink that your mind filled with colors rather than the gray ink. A wide rectangular chest was against a back wall with an elaborate ebony stand holding his famous bow. Above the few doors, there were small strands of red ribbon around scrolls of beige and red or with bells.

In your office, your gift seemed settled well into the range of not too formal and not too silly. In this place, your gift seemed entirely juvenile and honestly almost insulting. You shuddered as you took in the careful and almost formal decor and then your plain bag with its silly pouf of ribbons.

Still, he traced every inch of the bag. His fingers went down every strand of the curly ribbon to comb out every tangle. Then he traced the folded edges with the solemn ceremony of a samurai handling orders from his beloved general. You copied his posture, hoping that you were up to giving a silly gift the respect he was pouring over it.

“So... are you going to open it?” you finally whispered.

“Open it?” he murmured without a pause in reverent tracing of the bag’s folds.

“Is... this some kind of... Japanese thing I don’t understand?”

That made him start and look with wide eyes at you. “A Japanese... thing?”

You gave him a shy smile as you tried to understand his... obsession with the packaging. “Umm... I’m sorry—but I don’t get it. You don’t open gifts in front of the giver or something?”

He let out a chuckle and shook his head. “I am... very happy with the gift.” His fingers ran over the crisp corners of the bag one more time. “I am... enjoying the anticipation.” His fingers went to the string straps at the top and drifted over the curled ribbons. “It is... thrilling.”

You flushed in pleasure. He was simply anticipating it. No problem. You were fine right up until you thought that a simple scented candle and scarf might not be.... Well.... He was going to be disappointed. That sent a chill down your spine—your gifts really weren’t worth all this.

His eyes went to you and he saw your expression. His fingers were still on the bag, but he cocked his head and his smile faded. “These are not... hane?”

“No!” You let out a nervous chuckle. “I had no idea what they were—sorry.” You paused with an uncertain frown. “Umm... unless you were counting on that?”

His smile grew and he weighed the bag in his hand one more time. “No.... However, I am now intrigued. Whatever could this be?”

Finally, he unwound the string straps and let them fall with a monk’s thoughtful grace. Next, he combed through the pompon until the ribbons were each untangled. With a slow pop, he pulled it off of the bag with the least possible damage. It was like a ballet as he opened the bag itself—finally!—and slid his hands inside.

“What is this?” he mused, looking at you as his fingers apparently brushed the top. “I do not know.”

He drew out a few of the candies, examining them in his palm before laying them in a tidy line on the table. Next, he slid out the scarf wrapped around the candle and set it on the table with that same anticipation and ceremony. He shot you a smile as he gently twisted it slightly so that it was lined up in some precise and perfect way. His hands hung in the air for a moment and he smiled at it. Then, with infinite care, he unwound the scarf with all the care of an archeologist unwrapping an artifact. When he found a rogue candy, he added it to the line already on his table. When the candle was revealed—the most anticlimactic gift ever—he gave it a wide smile, lifted it off the scarf and set it aside. He folded the scarf in a precise square, straightening out the fringe with his fingers. Then the candle went directly beside it.

He gave you a smile and bowed towards you. “Domo arigato gozaimasu. Thank you very much.”

You flushed and muttered, “I... You’re welcome.” Flames licked your cheeks. “I mean... it’s not... very much—.”

Then you noticed that his eyes. They were wide and serious and seemed to glisten wetly. “It... It is perfect.” He bowed again, low and almost prone over the table. “I... cannot express....” You frowned and scratched your head. “I am... overwhelmed.”

“But... it’s just a candle and a scarf.”

He shook his head and for a moment you thought he was laughing at you. Yet, as he rose up again you saw that his eyes were overflowing and thick trails were flowing down his cheeks. “It is... so very.... There are no words.” He touched the line of candies. “To tell me that life is, indeed, sweet.” His finger traced a long line in the middle of the square of the scarf. “And to give me gifts of warmth—,” and he touched the candle, “—and light....”

You looked at the completely ordinary gifts in a new way as he contemplated them. “I... am glad that you like them.”

He took in a shuddering breath and nodded, ignoring the small star of a tear on his cheek. “I cannot remember the last time I was given a gift that was not an incarnation of violence.”

You gasped in surprise. There were... no words for what he was saying. The gravity of what he was saying weighed down on you until you were sure your spine would snap. Gifts of violence? If you hadn’t seen Genji’s gift—the one gift you would have thought should have been thoughtful and personal—you never would have understood even the tiny bit you felt like you did.

He bowed and murmured, “Domo arigato gozaimasu.”

You now were flushed and smiling as he did that. “I’m... I’m glad that you... you like them.”

“I.... It is more than I could ...ever have expected.” His blinked several times and smiled. “I am very grateful.”

“It’s nothing,” you insisted with a laugh. “But I am glad that you enjoy it.”

He lifted the candle like he was in a tea ceremony and sniffed it. “It is... even a sweet smell.” His smile was low and intimate. “A feast for the senses—smell, taste, light to see, warmth to feel. All that is lacking is sound—and you have shared your laughter with me, so that it is complete.”

You gave him an uncertain nod. Actually, you were completely off balance at the unexpected turn of events. But there was a certain charm, too. You had no doubt that he enjoyed your hasty gift. It all worked out, right?

He looked at you with a smile. “Would you like something to drink?”

“A drink?”

He nodded hurriedly. “I believe that it is custom to have a drink to celebrate one’s birth.” He held up his hands in a way that seemed playful. “If it were later, I would offer you sake, but as early as it is, perhaps you would prefer tea?”

You gave him a smile that felt like it came from a new, warm place in your heart. “I really wish that I could, but I need to run. I have a meeting but perhaps we can do something later?”

He was disappointed—his smile dimmed slightly, but was still there—and he nodded. “Thank you for a marvelous surprise.”

He folded the plain bag precisely the way that it had been in the store. For a moment, you were going to see him pull out a box with equally precisely folded wrapping paper of all kinds. Instead, he set it on the other side of the candle as if it, too, was a marvelous gift. Then he rose to his feet and offered you a hand to help you rise.

“Thank you,” you whispered as you got to your feet.

“No—it is my honor,” he murmured. “I thank you.”

You sort of floated through the rest of your day. You had never had a meeting go so swiftly—but you were replaying his vibrant awe that you were almost amazed you remembered any of it. Then there was training—leg day with Zarya—and some time on the range with your pulse rifle. Everything felt like it was just floating along.


	4. Chapter 4

Things kept going along like that right up until you were headed over to dinner at the cafeteria. Even things running a half hour late wasn’t enough to dim your glow through the last part of your day as you managed to race to get dinner. Then you heard a light, tenor voice calling to you, “Hey, there. I wasn’t expecting to see you again today.”

“Excuse me?!” you snapped, whirling around to see Genji standing behind you. “What do you mean?”

Genji snorted and jogged to catch you. “I thought that you were going to be busy all day.” He rolled his eyes and made some kissing noises. “That you and Hanzo were going to be doing smoochy and kissy things all day.”

You rolled your eyes and snarled, “You really are a... a snot.”

“A snot? Is that the worst word in your vocabulary?” He hooted. “No wonder you and my brother are together.”

“We are... not.” Your cheeks were hot and you... really wanted to... to hit him. “You are a brat.”

“A brat. Not really.” He stretched and folded his hands behind his head. “Just really interested in a new girl who is... into my brother.”

You rolled your eyes again. “Quit giving us both grief, Agent Shimada.”

“You ‘both’? Oooo... that sounds serious.” He let out another hoot. “There must be something serious in the air.”

You groaned as he began whistling the wedding march. “There is nothing like that.”

“Sure....”

You snarled something under your breath and went to the cafeteria. Dinner was the usual options—a high protein meal, a vegetarian meal, a carb-heavy pasta, a pizza, and then the salad bar—and you took your meal to your table. Whatever that guy was thinking—Genji was a rat and a brat and you were pretty sure that he was causing trouble no matter where he was. For a rebellious half second, you thought about taking a bat to his cybernetic head.

You knew it the moment that Hanzo appeared in the doorway. First the entire place went silent—so quiet you could hear the hum of the refrigerator cases—and then you heard the whispers. “Brother killer.” “Yakuza.” “Criminal.” “Murderer.” Voices blended behind you and around as everyone began pointing with quick fingers and forks and knives. “Murderer.” “Brother killer.” “Criminal.” “Mobster.”

He felt the tide change of the room. He glanced around and you saw his spine stiffen as he went to pick up the vegetarian meal and some silverware. Slowly, he scanned the room and saw no free tables—you saw his face fall—and he seemed to be about to turn away. Then he saw you and seemed to shiver. You saw him roll to the balls of his feet, as if he was getting ready to fight and he was verifiably creeping up to your table.

“Could I...?” he rumbled.

“Of course,” you smiled. The whispers stopped for a breathless moment as you nodded. “Have a seat.”

He put down his meal and sat across from you. There was a long moment that seemed to hold its breath to see what was next. He tried to ignore it—you saw him studiously focus head down on the stuffed portobello cap—but you could see his tension in the white knuckled grip he had on the fork.

You voice was a bit louder than you might have used, but you wanted those people to hear it. “So, do you have any plans tonight?”

He jerked and his fork scraped the utilitarian plate as he stared down at the meal. “As you know, I have nothing planned.”

“Perhaps we should do something. For your birthday.” You shrugged. “Is there anything you’d like to do?”

There was dead silence right up until Genji shouted, “Take her home!”

Well, that was the worst thing he could have said. Everyone laughed and you groaned. He only grunted and ate another bite in silence. You decided to shout back, “We are not sluts like you, Genji!”

Everyone burst into laughter and you gave the archer a vicious smile in return. Even when the commander shouted at you, you felt a measure of satisfaction. Hanzo gave you a hasty smirk and shrugged. In a gritty voice, he whispered, “You think that will stop him?”

In a soft tone, you replied, “No. But maybe he will at least stop for tonight.”

That made Hanzo chuckle. “Perhaps. At least they are whispering about him now.”

You shook your head and hissed, “This is shit. We all know that we have people here from all kinds of backgrounds. Jesse was New Mexico’s most wanted. Probably fourth or fifth on the national most wanted.” Your eyes narrowed as Genji had two girls join his table and start cooing over him, gently touching his shoulder and arm with their faces alight with concern. “And it’s not like he’s pure as driven snow.”

Hanzo nodded and sighed, “He was here first, though. He could tell the story the way he wanted for ten years.”

You nodded slowly. “That’s probably what is going on. Unfortunately, people don’t admit that they are wrong easily.”

Hanzo nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose it would be remiss if we simply got up and left?”

“Nah. It wasn’t that good anyway.” You pushed aside your tray slightly. “Let’s find something else to do and then we’ll get something out.”

He nodded and you both deposited your dirty dishes and half eaten meal. Walking out, you realized that you had honestly nowhere you were thinking of going. He trailed along after you without saying anything right up until you stopped. He asked, “Is something wrong?”

“I realized... I have no idea what to do next.”

He nodded and shrugged. “I... would like to....” 

“To what?”

He shrugged. “I thought that we could...” You smiled at his sudden shyness. “I could show you... the...”

“Sure.”

He blinked in surprise, stumbling on the path. “You... agree?”

“Umm... sure.” You grinned at him and gave him a thumb’s up. “Let’s go.”

“Could I meet you at the archery range?” He glanced around as if he could read the sky to tell what time it was. “Perhaps in thirty minutes?”

“Sure—I’ll be there.”

The archery range was in the back of the base and stretched over a thousand feet before backing up into a sharp, artificial hill topped with a cement wall. The entrance had a few wooden pavilions with tables and benches for observers and then four clearly marked lanes with straw targets like watermelon halves down at the bottom of each one. On each one was a paper target with the traditional rings.

Hanzo was there at the pavilion, sipping from his gourd flask with his quiver and his bow in his hands. He waved at you as you got there, his smile wide and free despite the surprise in his eyes.

“You did come after all,” he murmured. “I am glad.”

“I said I’d be here,” you replied with a grin.

“Good.” He had you sit down and explained some basics of archery. “I want you to be safe, first and foremost.”

He all but took his giant bow apart to show you how it worked. You expected him to drop it in your hands and keep talking, but instead, he picked up his huge bow and handed you a wrist guard and a glove.

“Come. We will get started.” He helped you slide the glove on your right hand and the wrist guard over your left wrist. “Go to lane three. We will start there.”

Imagine your surprise when he came up behind you and set the large Storm Bow in your hands! As he settled your fingers around the spine, you could feel the supple give of the grip—high quality leather that sank when you gripped it and worn smooth by touching. The bow itself gleamed as he helped you raise it up. The arrow—a bamboo shaft with a gleaming round tip—smelled green and the fletching fluttered in the slight breeze.

His whisper in your ear felt sensual and intimate. “The Storm Bow is my hereditary weapon. It has protected generations of... my ancestors.” He settled your fingers around the spine and then gripping the arrow. “This is how. You are a natural.” He laughed shortly. “I am sorry that these are so long. If we do this often, I will trim the new shafts to your measurements.”

“What?”

“The arrow is to be five centimeters longer than your arm.” The archer showed the way the arrows were just longer than his outstretched arm. “This will feel odd with my arrows, but you will do fine until the shafts are trimmed.”

You laughed at his reassurances and, under his guidance, fired it. It went only a few feet away and skittered wildly. He laughed, too and pulled out another from the quiver and helped you set it on the string. This time he moved his hand under your elbow and your shot went all the way up to the target—even if it did land outside the target. Finally, you got the third arrow on the string and he helped you pull it again.

You struggled to aim and just as you got ready—you sneezed. Not a cute little kitten sneeze either—a lung clearing, nose flaring bellow of a sneeze. The infamous Storm Bow jerked wildly and the arrow flew without control. You blinked and saw it flash for an instant before it plowed into the dirt and snapped the shaft.

You thrust the bow away and ran down the lane. Well, hell, it was snapped in two pieces. Inexplicably, you felt tears in your eyes as you worked it out of the dirt. Hanzo came up beside you as you picked up the pieces and held them out at him. “I am so sorry.” You got to your feet and walked with him to the other arrows. After your sudden education today about how these arrows were made, you felt terrible that you had broken one. “I am really sorry. I... I can replace it. Some of it.”

He shook his head. “It is fine.”

“No, really, I will get you a replacement.” You looked at the broken arrow again, wondering what the cost for apparently the one type of bamboo from the one province in all of Japan was. Shipping was probably a mint. “I really will replace it.”

“It is fine.” He picked up the arrows back in his quiver and you both began walking back. “I break them quite often. Particularly in the late summer if it is dry.” He shrugged lightly. “If you wanted to, you could break them all and it would be fine because I would still have many more at my home.”

He settled the bow in your hands again and laughed as you fired it. You shot all of his arrows and while none of them came even close to the bullseye, it was fun. He kept sprinkling little stories in his advice and kept encouraging you. You managed to at least get it close and it was actually soothing to do these same steps—the same he did, the same his father did, the same his grandfather and great-grandfather did.

And it was... exciting that he held you in his muscular arms and held you so close. Not that you were going to admit it. Hell, he’d probably run a mile if you mentioned it, so you decided to keep it to yourself.

“Are you sure that you haven’t jinxed this?”

“Jinxed?” He cocked his head. “I do not understand.” 

“Are you sure that you haven’t done some kind of voodoo? Or that it isn’t just soaked in misogyny and hates me?”

In return, he laughed openly before picking up one of the arrows and firing it downrange to plow into the target. Of course it hit the bullseye.

You nodded and clapped as he lowered the bow. “Nice shot.”

He walked over to you and offered you the bow again. “Would you like another turn?”

“You really don’t like your arrows, do you?”

“I have more.”

You nodded and stood up to take another turn. Once more he was right there, helping you hold it steady and to help your aim. You were sure that this was going to be another miss, but honestly as long as you didn’t break it another one, you were fairly relaxed about firing it. He braced your elbow and then pulled back on the string. With a deep breath, you aimed and then let it go. There was an organic thunk down the range and your bewildered eyes saw that it had.... What the hell? It... hit the target.

“Seven,” he pronounced with a gleam in his eye and a ring of pride.

You were going to reply, but the irritating voice rang over the field. “I don’t believe it!” Genji strolled up. “You... really fired... the Storm Bow?” He cursed in Japanese and then added, “I don’t fucking believe it—he let you fire the Storm Bow.”

You felt Hanzo’s arm wrap around your shoulders and then tighten. “You were not invited.”

Genji leapt toward you and held his hand out as if he wanted to shake it. “Well, congratulations, Lieutenant! As the first and only person that Hanzo has ever let even touch the Storm Bow, you are singularly honored. I am—.”

“Genji!” you yelled. “Get lost.”

Hanzo nodded silently. “We are—.”

“You were letting her fire the Storm Bow! You swore you would never let anyone touch it. That you would die before you’d let anyone fire the thing. You swore you’d never, ever, ever—.”

“Thank you, Genji,” you snapped back. “But we were doing fine. God, why can’t you take a hint?!” While the Omnic ninja gaped at you, you tugged on Hanzo. “Come on—we don’t need this jerk. Want to get a burger or something?”

“Let me get my ya,” he grunted. “We will leave after that.”

“I’ll go get it.”

You ran down the lane and worked it out of the target. You kept an eye on the two of them—Hanzo standing there with his arms crossed and Genji laughing there. You walked up to Hanzo and handed him the arrow. “Come on—I’m starving.”

“Of course.” He gave his brother a short nod as Genji cooed and made disgusting kissing noises and in general made an ass of himself. “I will see you later, otouto.”

Genji made all sort of hoots and shouts as you both walked away. Your cheeks were flaming as he kept up his noise and you hissed to Hanzo. “What a jerk.”

“He has... always been a... a trial,” Hanzo agreed.

To your surprise, Hanzo took you to a cozy place just off-base run by a small family. You assumed it was a Japanese place given the ease that he spoke to the gray haired mother as she led you to a low table. Thankfully, you had a well underneath the table for your legs and Hanzo smiled as he ordered... something. Lots of somethings. Sake, at least, you recognized, but the rest.... Well, at the very least, this was a day for the record books.

And yet, despite not fully understanding his order, you surprised yourself that it was all delicious. There was a trio of sushi rolls, chicken in a delightful sauce with vegetables, fried shrimp with a pale and crispy crust, balls of rice with assorted fillings in them, and a bowl of thick noodles. There was sake—a small and brilliantly red carafe and two small cups the size of duck eggs—but there was also pot after iron pot of tea the color of moss.

He readily translated for you as the older lady and the young man who was apparently her youngest son came by to check on you. “She wants to know if you are enjoying your dinner.”

“Oh, yes.”

Hanzo looked up and smiled, “Haitoushinotomodachi.”

There was another rapid burst of Japanese and he turned back to you. “She would like to tell you to be careful of the wasabi.”

You nodded and carefully sounded out, “Domo ariga-to.... uhhh.”

The woman came alive and began speaking directly to you. Your eyes went wide and your brain sort of froze. “Umm... Hanzo?”

He smiled at you again. “Domo arigato gozaimasu.”

Thankfully, the phone rang and she went off to answer it. You shook your head for a moment and poked the brilliant green paste. “I... really didn’t know what to say...?”

“You did well.” He dipped his shrimp into the tiny cup of dark sauce. “She is very impressed.” With a wink, he added, “She feels more important and... useful now.”

“Uhh?”

“Her son has to translate and he has been waiting tables for those who do not speak Japanese. It has made her feel good that she can still wait on tables and be useful.” He nibbled his treat. “Her husband is the cook and they immigrated here a few years ago. All three of her sons and her daughter were born here and are effectively bi-lingual, but it is harder for her.” He winked. “You have helped her feel like she is still useful in the restaurant.”

“Ahh.”

It seemed a shame when the meal ended with a tiny plate of mochi the half the size of golf balls. He paid the bill, sliding cash into the envelope and leaving it behind as he helped you climb to your feet. “I... hope you enjoyed it.”

“It was delicious.” You were far more relaxed than you thought and actually found yourself nodding to the little waving cat at the door. “Although I don’t understand the language.”

He nodded slowly and, with a solemn face murmured, “I could teach you.”

“Oh! Umm... yeah. Can’t hurt me, right?”

He smiled and brought you back to your door. You were half expecting—half hoping—for a kiss or something (that just shows how much sake you had drunk) but instead he simply bowed low and went back home.


	5. Chapter 5

It marked a difference in him, though. He—as foolish as it sounded even in your head—actually spoke in the morning team meeting. It was not long or flowery, but it was far more than the usual grunt or two. He nodded and greeted everyone. In fact, he offered a suggestion to a teammate rather than his usual solemn silence.

You were mulling over the change as you stared at your soup and salad for lunch when the cafeteria went silent again. Hanzo was in the doorway, looking idly around until he found you. Again, with slow and careful pacing, he sat next to you. You noted that the whispers were slightly less, and there was a random giggle at Genji’s name, but he still seemed haunted by them and they grew as he brought his lunch to your table like a tidal wave hovering over a beach.

“Hey, Hanzo-san,” you chirped.

He nodded and concentrated on his food to the exclusion of everyone else. You both ate in silence, ignoring the chattering around you. Your regular schedules didn’t overlap that much and meal times were the times you saw him outside of team meetings. He still was not the most personable or open or charming, but it did seem he was breaking out of his shell in some ways.

Fall had begun crisping the air when you realized that you were due to do a team building exercise. Well, what that was about the last thing on your mind. You had a new mission coming up—another hot tip on Reaper—and needed to do performance reviews, requisitions (and now you knew you needed to figure out supplies for your new archer, so you needed to figure out where to get those kinds of things), a few anniversary things, and on and on. Like anywhere else, you had a certain number of assigned hours that you needed to use to build your team.

Everywhere seemed so... overdone. Everyone went bowling or did paintball or did ropes courses. Everyone did camping and honestly you weren’t sure you wanted to go out into the wilderness on your time off. So, what was left to do? You were paging through websites to find something that sounded different and fun and exciting when you saw an ad for Great Escapes, Inc.

The website looked exciting. Great Escapes, Inc. had nine escape rooms for three different “skill levels”. Five rooms were labeled for beginners and ages ten to adult were welcome. Two rooms were for intermediate skill levels and ages fifteen to adult were welcome. Three were adults only and were considered expert, offering a series of two to three rooms. Everything seemed fine—puzzles involving locks and clues and it seemed like a lot of fun. To your knowledge, no one else had done anything like that. Team building and air-conditioned or heated as the weather demanded—perfect.

You called Great Escapes to about their expert packages. The puzzles were all self-contained, seek and find type things—you could find the items you needed and then use them to solve the puzzles. The puzzles were all aboveboard—look for keys, look for clues. The rooms were video monitored and hints could be provided over the loudspeakers. Beginning rooms got infinite hints. Intermediate got ten total hints. Expert rooms got five hints in the first room, three hints in the second and then any unused hints were available for the third. Puzzles ranged from simple riddles and maneuvering locks to weighing liquid and sand for scales and translating Morse code messages and decoding substitution ciphers.

You signed up for an expert level room. According to the website, your “Trouble At the Casino” experience would take you through a story of following the trail of a thief from a casino. None of the tricks or traps were at all dangerous and every participation would be monitored for safety. Afterwards, you would be able to rest and refresh in one of their team rooms with your choice of two snacks—chicken wings, pizza, vegetable trays, or cheese sticks—and your choice of three drinks plus iced water.

You sent the announcement to your team and considered it done.

The day arrived and it was crisp and cool and the leaves on the trees were a rainbow of gold and orange and red. Your team seemed pretty excited about it, too, so you were pretty sure that it would be a good experience. You drove to the big Great Escapes building and checked in and waited for your team to arrive.

Everyone chattered excitedly and stuffed their things in the provided lockers. Hanzo shuffled in with a canvas bag, sweating and looking for all the world like he had just come from an extensive workout. He gave you a shallow bow and a smirk that was not quite a smile before choosing a locker and squashing his bag in it. You watched as he reached inside and gently touched something before his eyes caught you watching him. He spared you a flushed grimace before slamming the locker closed and locking it.

Why, exactly, did every place have a pile of forms to sign? And then an “orientation” where they went over all the rules and explanations. A fact of life, you supposed as you signed and initialed papers. The orientation was standard—no climbing on the scenery, no fighting, no punching or destroying the scenery or the props, no theft of scenery or props, call out a code word of “chandelier” to get help, and to get a hint everyone had to shout “hint” at the same time. The uniformed presenter then gave you the “story”—a thief had escaped the casino with some cash and some evidence that the owners were laundering money for a “Claw terrorist group”. (You all groaned there.) The thief had been helpfully run around and had left caches of his evidence in three locations. Supposedly, the presumed criminal casino owners had left a bomb to prevent anyone from getting this evidence and then locked the team inside the casino, so you had three and a half hours left to get through the rooms, gather the evidence, and disarm the bomb to escape.

“Piece of cake,” someone muttered and there were rumbles of agreement. You smirked, happily unable to tell any of the Great Escapes staff that they were, in fact, dealing with people who took on the real Talon in their real lives. “We’ll be out in two hours.”

You all gathered in the first room—a colorful room with posters about poker and roulette and blackjack and lots of flashing lights. It was simple enough to find the first key and get started unlocking the chains around the slot machine. The key to the lockbox was hanging inside the otherwise empty machine, and you were off. You needed to open the lockbox, push some buttons, get the photos and piece together the riddle on the laminated pieces of paper to spell out the next passcode top open the cage and get the poker chips. Adding them up, you got the key code for the locked door into the second room.

You all were laughing and snorting about the easy puzzles as you got into the “back room” of the casino. This was a dark room with one overhead spotlight trained on a steel chair with heavy leather straps bolted to it. A small table to one side had a blue spotlight trained on it—sort of like moonlight—and seemed to be the first clue as thick chisels and awls and... whatever that was supposed to be were all in different directions with different colored tape on the handles. There was a padlocked toolbox with three steel chains around it and then a fenced in case of what you guessed were supposed to be batons and bats under a large analog clock. A bucket of water of polyurethane (representing water?) was on the floor, along with a stripped electric cord. And, of course, there was the locked door on the other side with no less than three deadbolts and yet another key code lock. 

Someone asked aloud, “What is this? A torture room?”

You were going to say something, most likely something sarcastic, when you took a look at Hanzo. His eyes were like saucers with whites gleaming all around his pupils. His skin glowed with clammy sweat. His hands shook and he was so tense he jumped back and slammed into the wall when someone rattled the locked cage of bats. His hands were in tense claws as he began tugging at the other door.

“Hey... Hanzo’s freaking out!” someone shouted.

You went to him and whispered, “Hanzo. Hanzo. It’s me. Look at me.” His eyes locked onto you and he muttered fast Japanese curses. His breath wheezed in and out like a chuffing steam train. “Hanzo. Look just at me.”

He lunged to the side, causing the crowd to jump back, before lunging again to stand directly in front of you. He screamed at the entire team, making them leap backwards, before shoving you behind him again. His fists went up to swing wildly at anyone who moved, only to continually shove you behind him. For a terrifying moment, he seemed to not recognize anyone as he kept screaming at them with spitting, sputtering words. 

You stared at him as he glanced wildly at you over his shoulder. He softened for just a moment, looking at you as sweat literally dripped off his body in clammy, almost slimy drops. His hair was plastered to his skin as he looked back at the team and swung at them again. You felt him shuffle and shove you against the wall into a corner that he entirely blocked off as if he was guarding you from every terrorist in the world. 

You took a wild breath and tried to think, to remember your training. Thank god for the obligatory PTSD awareness training! You had not expected to deal with it yourself and had honestly been annoyed that you were stuck in a hot meeting hall for three days, but at least you had some idea of what was going on. You took in a deep breath, raising your hands slowly, and then released, lowering your hands equally slowly.

“Hanzo. It’s me. Take a look at me. I’m right here.” He did look at you, unconsciously slowing down his panting breath just a little as he looked at you over his shoulder. “I am right here. This is a game.”

He muttered again but at least he was focusing on you. Or he was, right up until the moderators announced “Is there a problem?” over the loud speakers. Immediately, he jumped again, whirling and perching on one foot with the other leg bent almost up to his waist and his arms up in fists to protect his chest. Someone coughed and he swept you behind him with what could only be described as a battle cry.

Then it was absolutely silent.

You kept up your slow breathing. “Hanzo. Look at me. I am right here. You are safe. This is a game.” He grunted something at you over his shoulder before whirling to face the room again. “You are safe. This is a game. Just a game. We can end the game and walk out of here right now.”

That made him pause... a moment. “This is just a game. We have an open door behind us and can leave the game. We can leave the game right now, Hanzo.”

“Leave?” he croaked.

“Can you follow me?” You kept up your slow breathing. “Just follow me through the open door and we will leave the game.” He did a sort of hop to follow you, his body still curled protectively. “We will leave the game. Just step outside with me.”

He took a few steps and, in the bright and blinking lights of the casino room, he seemed to be able to calm down a little. His legs went down and, when you knocked on the front door and said, “chandelier”, he finally dropped his arms.

In the lobby, you signaled the Great Escapes staff to back off. One of them was holding a slender phone in her hand, her mouth open and her face pale. You kept talking—over and over—and kept repeating, “Hanzo. We are fine. We are in a game. You are safe.”

He sat down in one of the guest chairs at a cheap wooden table, sweating and with a glazed look in his eyes. He shook himself as if he was waking up from a long dream. “Shiro. Yoshi. Aiko. A-a-a... No—what about the...? Game?”

“Yeah. We were in a game. We got out of the game.” You puffed out a breath as the Great Escapes staff began monitoring the team as they unlocked another box in the dim room. “We got out.”

He shuddered and panted and finally fixed his gaze on you. “Game? A game?” You nodded slowly, sitting down with deep breaths. “It... is safe?”

“Yes. This was a game. It is safe.” You rose slowly and got a glass of water. “It was a safe game.”

He took the glass from you and sipped it, his hands shaking. Suddenly, he turned away with a groan and buried his face in his hands. You stared as he shivered violently, shuddering despite the temperate room.

A member of the staff came up with a ring of keys and opened his locker. You nodded and got his bag and his things. Obviously, he had no business going back into the game and your team had already unlocked the toolbox, so you were going to have to watch the rest of the game from here.

His bag was unlocked. You would have expected that he would have triple locked it—sewn it shut—but he left it open. Surprisingly, there was also a thick wafting smell of vanilla and sandalwood, which prompted you to take a peek inside the canvas bag. There was the alpaca scarf—you’d know it anywhere—wrapped around what looked to be like a creamy sliver of wax. When you grabbed for the scarf, something sharp under it all scraped your palm. You let out a sound, but bit your lip and turned to head back to the archer.

You made no effort to hide your steps—but not any effort to be overly loud, either—as you walked up with the bag. Sitting down with him again, you flapped the canvas to release a little bit of the vanilla and sandalwood. He must have smelled it, because he sat back and gulped in big breaths before looking at you.

“It happened again, did it not?”

“What happened, Hanzo?”

He shook his head slowly. “It.. happened again.” Absently, he took hold of the bag and pulled it into his lap. His hand went inside and began trailing up and down slowly. “It happened again and... I could have hurt you.” His eyes were anguished as he finally focused on you. “You are... safe? No one got hurt?”

“Of course not.” You gave him a shaky smile. “Everyone is okay.” You waved at the monitors. “And you can see that they are in the final room.”

He gave a weary glance at the monitors and nodded silently. His hands trailed back and forth still, in a slow way that a weary soul might skim their fingers along the water of a river. He sat there silently, waiting for nothing and everything as you watched him.

When the team finally unlocked the final door, you and Hanzo were directed to your team room. Pizzas and a veggie tray were there, along with water and sodas. Of course, you had a speech all written out, ready to go. You were going to congratulate them on their time and their teamwork and for solving the case. You were going to rib them on the times that they were not working together. It was all in your head and on the notecards stashed in the locker.

But when you looked at him, you wanted to say something else.

You wanted to talk about triggers. You wanted to talk about PTSD. You wanted... No. Hanzo squirmed in the back of the room and the rest of your team was shooting angry glares at him. He was still sweating, and refused to meet anyone’s gaze. Not even yours.

Plan A. Speech A. 

You chuckled and laughed and made the usual banal comments about teamwork and the importance of sticking together. They laughed at the expected places and applauded at the expected places. You hustled through it all and didn’t bother taking questions or analyzing the play by play of performance. Just the usual “Yay Team” and then you ducked out. They could enjoy the snacks and drink the drinks if they wanted to. Not that you expected anyone to stick around for long. But as soon as you were done, the team seemed to all agree that it was time to leave and they began filing out.

Hanzo was gone before anyone else.

You got back to base in record time, even though you weren’t sure you were going to do when you got there. You spent the rest of the time—even the time you were in the gym training—wondering what you were supposed to be doing. This wouldn’t help him in the slightest. This wouldn’t help you at all. You were supposed to be on top of everything, know what was going on with your entire team. You were supposed to know everyone well enough to that this wasn’t supposed to happen. Hell, if you didn’t get demoted for this, it would be a miracle. What was the protocol to handling this anyway?

At dinner, Hanzo didn’t even appear. You gulped down that scratchy feeling as you saw Genji come in. Three girls and a rather slender guy with the most amazing eyeliner wings and highlights hovered around him. You heard the chatter rise as he came in and began scanning the tables.

He caught a hold of your curious gaze and scowled at you. Immediately, his friends also scowled at you too and the guy actually hissed at you and tugged Genji to go to a table with a whole crowd of other people. The ninja shook his head and gestured, whispering, until they flounced off.

Immediately, he stalked up to you. He jerked the chair back and it squealed as he flopped down in it. “What the hell did you do to Hanzo?”

You snarled back at him. “I didn’t do anything.”

He snarled at you, leaning over the table. “I suggest you get it figured out... sir.”

“Like you care.” You got to your feet and grabbed your tray. “Look, I’m going to get it figured out. If you really cared about Hanzo, you’d help me instead of trying to chew me out.”

You tossed the remains of your dinner and stomped out of the cafeteria. The ninja knew that something was wrong—but why was he furious at you? Why wasn’t he doing something to help? You didn’t know, but you were going to chew him out when you did get this under control.

The first stop seemed to be to go check on Hanzo.


	6. Chapter 6

You went straight for the apartment blocks and to Hanzo’s apartment. At his apartment door, you studied the bright blue recycle bin. Two large, round bottles with red Japanese characters were on top of an empty bottle of vodka and surrounded by what had to be a dozen silver cans that used to hold Sapporo beer. Then there was the paper bag that held a plastic bag half filled with crushed green and brown glass. The whole doorway reeked of alcohol.

For a moment, you were almost afraid to knock. Who knew what kind of frame of mind he was in after that kind of...? You were going to talk yourself out of knocking, but then a bell rang on your phone and you saw the message pop up.

“New Transfer Request Pending > Re: H. Shimada”

That sealed it. You knocked on the door. Waited. Knocked again. Waited. You pounded the door with your fist. Finally, there was a rustle and you heard grumbling on the other side. There was a muffled mumbled, “Nani?”

“Hanzo!” you shouted back. “Can you talk to me?”

He muttered your name and you heard a thump and a scrape along the door that vibrated against your hands. Finally, you heard, “L-l-leave me alone.”

“Please, Hanzo—let me talk to you about it.”

“No,” he grunted.

“Please.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“No.”

Hell, you were back to stubborn, one word responses again. You pounded the door again and heard the groan on the other side. “Open up.”

“No.”

“Please. I just have a few questions.”

“No.”

“I am your friend.”

“No.... no....” The door vibrated slightly. “Please... no.” You felt your heart twist like mad because he voice simply snapped into a low moan. “I cannot... bear it.”

You heard the huffing sound, the faint sob on the other side. Leaning close, you tried to listen in on whatever he was saying, but the sound faded to nothing. Then there was silence. You kicked the recycle bin and the glass rattled loudly. There was a sound that was faded by the closed door.

“Hanzo, please talk to me.”

Abruptly, there was hoarse, rolling laughter that burst out behind the door. He kept going on and on and on until it cracked and you heard him sobbing. The sound kept bouncing in strange ways back and forth until it made you shiver.

“Hanzo, please just talk me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing.”

You squared your shoulders and barked, “I order it, Agent Shimada. As your commanding officer, I order you to open the door.”

“You are not.” He let out a shaky breath. “I have al-al-already... sent it.”

Well, he had a point. “I know, Hanzo. But... you can still talk to me.”

“I am.... not your problem any more.” His sobbing became more breathless. “I will not... bother you again.” There was a breathless moment before he added, “I swear—I will not... not bother you again. I will never... hurt you again.”

“You’ve never hurt me.”

“Give it time,” he snarled. Then his voice broke again, “It will happen. It is... inevitable.”

“You will never hurt me.”

“Go away. Approve the transfer. You need never s-s-s-see....”

You shuddered again. He was fading away, moving away. There was another long moment and the silence stretched out. No matter how much you banged the door, you heard nothing else. The evening got chilly fast and you were out of options on trying to get him to talk.

Slowly, you walked away. Maybe he needed to have some time. Whatever it was, maybe just a period of alone time would help him get straightened out. Maybe he would regret it or something. Maybe he would need a friend—and even if he found some way to force the transfer and get away from you, maybe you could help....

You laughed at yourself. You were in way too deep, way too fast. What was next?

You heard a tenor chuckle off in the evening shadows. With a click, Genji turned on his lights and walked up to you. “And how did we do?”

“He is holed up in his apartment and won’t talk,” you muttered.

Genji snarled wordlessly and shrugged. “He’s always done that. Whenever there was something he didn’t want to face, he’d hole up and lock himself in a room somewhere.” He mad a sour, angry sound and snapped, “Give it up and let him drink himself to death.”

“Not helping!” you snapped at him.

You ended up pacing around the apartment buildings for some time as you tried to puzzle out what to do. Genji had flown off at some point and was doing whatever it was that cybernetic ninjas did at night—probably leaping from building to building and outrunning speeding trains and stopping bullets. You were pretty sure that he was harassing someone else when you happened to turn a corner and see him with Zenyatta on a bench in front of a playground.

You were going to skirt around them and turn back towards your own apartment when you heard Zenyatta’s flat voice call your rank and name. Gritting your teeth, you glanced at him and nodded.

“Please come and sit.” He flicked his hand up and gestured with the fingers down. “To assist in a puzzle.”

You stalked over, scowling at Genji, and nodded slowly. “Sure. If it’s fast. I’m heading home.”

Zenyatta tilted his head slightly in a mockery of a thoughtful expression. “Home. Noun. A primary domicile or residence, usually denoting a fixed physical location of shelter.”

“Yeah. That’s where I’m going.” You felt compelled to smile, even though you had no idea what an expressionless race of Omnics made of such. “Need to rest up for tomorrow.”

Zenyatta nodded slowly. “The need to rest is well recorded in history and science. However, I believe that my student will benefit from speaking to you.”

Genji glared at you. “Do you fuck him?”

You backpedaled. “What?!”

“Do you fuck him?” His voice rose higher and grew louder. “Do you fuck Hanzo?”

“Uhh... no,” you snapped.

He stared as if he was going to shot lasers from his eyes. “Why are you doing this, then?”

“Doing... what?”

“You are eating with him. You are over at his apartment. You go out with him. He even put in official paperwork to join your team and to enlist in Overwatch properly rather than stay in the pool of mercenaries and rando vigilante types.” His snarl rippled over the playground and sidewalks. “So... why are you so protective of him?”

“He... is a member of my team.” Well, you hoped that was true still. “He has received official pardon—.”

“That bullshit again. Let me tell you—that ‘official pardon’ bullshit is because they can use us. We are good enough to get shot at, to go disarm bombs or go after Talon. That is it.” He tossed his head. “It is a trade—not a hallmark of good character.”

“You...? He....?” You shook your head. “He’s been following you. Trying to take care of you.”

Genji’s laugh was shrill and broken. “Yeah—like when he killed me.”

Zenyatta broken in. “He did not kill you fully and you still had vital signs—.”

“He left me for dead then.” His dark eyes went back to you. “Or did he forget to tell you that part?” You shook your head slowly. “Or maybe he fucks you so good you don’t remember. He left me for dead. And now that I’ve got a good thing going here, he’s just happening to come here. I can’t even go on official missions without him in the trees and spying on me.”

“You recommended him for duty, Genji,” you whispered.

“Yeah—a huge mistake on my part.”

Zenyatta let out a whistle which was probably the closest he could do to a sigh without lungs and a mouth. “My student, it is not good for you to hold on to this anger.”

“Yeah—don’t tell me about forgetting. Don’t tell me about forgiving.” He flung up his mechanical hands. “He still has his whole body. He still can go anywhere. He still can have a life.”

The monk shook his head. “My student, you can do anything you wish.”

“Yeah—not without Overwatch breathing down my neck. Without them, I’m a walking target for anyone holding on to a grudge against my father or me or my fucking brother.”

“My student, you must release this anger.”

“My master—with all due respect—you don’t know what you are talking about. I used to have a life. I used to have girlfriends and I used to be able to get drunk and get high. I used to be able to go out whenever I wanted.” His eyes were dark and snapped in fury and the lights on his body seemed to seethe with his fury. “I used to be free. I used to have a life. Now, I am stuck in a fucking tin soldier. I can’t drink. I can’t smoke. I can’t date because I can’t even fuck. What happens when I want to retire? Do they leave me a half of a body because this whole thing is military tech?”

“My student—whether I understand the apparent need to procreate, to drink is immaterial.” Zenyatta cocked his head and raised a finger. “Everyone has changes. The only permanent thing is change.”

“Change?! Change? You can’t take the tiger out of the jungle. You can’t take the criminal psychopath out of Hanzo.” He shook his head. “He is a permanent loss of humanity.”

“My student—did you not change?” Genji’s mouth shut with an audible clamp of teeth. He stared at the monk and then you and then the monk again. “My student—did you not find a better path?”

“Helping people is better than hurting them. People are friends not targets. Got it.”

“My student—could Hanzo learn the same?”

Again Genji was silent. You took a deep breath and dared to add, “I think... he’s trying to change. I think he is trying to learn better.”

“My student—is Hanzo your brother?”

Genji let out an enraged howl. “I wish he wasn’t!” Unexpectedly, he seemed to suddenly sob. “I wish he wasn’t. I want anyone else to be my brother.” He sobbed into his fists. “It wouldn’t... hurt so much, then. I wish he had never been born.”

Zenyatta cut in before you could. “My student—if he was not the man he is, then you would have been entirely different. You would have led your clan. You would have made the decisions for your clan. My student—would you have then joined Overwatch at all?”

His eyes misted for a moment. “I would have led my clan. I would have made my father proud. I would have... would have....”

“Would you have killed your brother?” you asked in a hiss.

He looked up at you and you could see the confusion disappear. “I would never have killed my brother. And if I did—I would have made damn sure that he was dead and not going to live forever in a mechanical heap.” Suddenly, he nodded. “I... I would have tried to do my duty to the clan.”

“And?”

“And nothing. Living life in a computer is not some great and powerful thing that everyone should try.” He sighed. “And... I suppose that I would have been still with the clan. I would have been the only son and... and the... wakagashira. I would have had all the guns and led all the teams. I guess I... would have been married and had kids by now.” His eyes hardened at you. “I would have at least gotten laid.”

“My student—all of Overwatch would have been pursuing you.”

“Would that be worse than this?”

“My student—do you not count all of us as your friends? Reinhardt and Jesse and... and me. My student—we are not friends?”

“We are, my master. We are. I value all of them—and you. But... I can’t forget that I’m only a robot.”

“My student—you are not only a robot. A robot does not care for these things.”

“I want my life back.”

“My student—which life do you want back? The life of a criminal? The life of a yakuza? The life of a human with no future?” Genji sighed and crossed his arms to look away. “My student—do you want a life like that? A life that people would judge not worth mercy?”

“I want... I want to have someone care for me. I want someone to care that I live or die and want me to come home safe.” Tears trickled down his eyes. “I want all that stuff that everyone wants.”

You puffed out a breath. “And Hanzo?”

“I want him to feel just like me. I want him to know what it is like to be alone. I want him to... to be alone like me.” His shook his head and scrubbed his cheeks with his hands. “I want him to hurt and be alone and to know that he is trapped—just like me.”

“My student—what purpose would that serve?”

“Maybe he’d be sorry for what he did. Maybe he’d feel some remorse. Maybe he’d just leave me the hell alone.”

“My student—then you would be alone.”

“I’d feel better.”

“My student—you say he is the villain in your story.” Genji nodded with a bitter scowl. “What are you in his?”

Genji gaped at his master in dumbfounded silence. Minutes passed that he said nothing, just stared at the unmoving face of the Omnic. Finally, he nodded and stared down at the sidewalk. You took the silent moment to give Zenyatta a nod and walk away.

You took a long think as you got ready for bed. A long think about Genji, about Hanzo, and about what you were doing. You had a new transfer request pending. You had an archer that probably would never trust a team building activity ever again. You needed to do what was best for the team. You had a career to think about.

Your sleep was filled with disjointed images of running through those escape rooms and screams and mirrors that reflected horrid crimes. You kept running through room after room, but there wasn’t an exit. Reaper charged after you. Then you tripped over a broken Zenyatta.


	7. Chapter 7

You woke up to the sound of your perfectly normal alarm to a perfectly normal day. The sun was creeping around the clouds as you dressed. Your tablet showed your schedule—perfectly normal meetings and perfectly normal training. A perfectly normal day.

You did your morning meeting, passed out a birthday card, and so on. You gave the archer—the hunched over, red-eyed, glowering archer in the corner with his arms crossed over his chest and looking like he’d rather be having a root canal—a brief nod and the same smile you gave your team in the morning. You did the physical training with the team outside in the cool autumn air that energized everyone. You put together your status report for your superiors.

Ding!

You stared at your computer. “New Transfer Request Pending Approval > Re: H. Shimada”. You’d forgotten that. Actually—not forgotten it so much as hoped it would just go away. Kind of like a small child might hide under the blankets and hope that whatever monster her imagination conjured would just go away, you had hoped that he would withdraw his application to transfer and that it would simply not be a problem again. You opened it to make a note—something along the lines of “Will not consider at this time”—when you heard a knock at your door.

Well, damn.

You hit the button to open your door and Hanzo came in. He carefully closed the door as quietly as possible behind him and gave you a low bow.

“Could we speak now?” he murmured.

You gave him a sour look and nodded. “I have your application open if that is what you want to talk about.” His relieved sigh was enough to convince you that’s what he wanted. “So, I am reviewing it and I—.”

“Please. Just approve it.”

“What? Why would I approve it? You just got here.”

He flushed a dark red. “I would... truly appreciate you approving it.” He gave you a weak gesture. “If you have reservations, then I will go back into the general agent pool. I am... not concerned with... joining another specific team.” There was another half shrug and he added in a low voice, “Add whatever notes or recommendations you see fit.”

You scowled and looked at the application. “Is this how you did the transfer to my team?”

“I... asked to be transfer to your team.”

“And so why are you so unhappy now?” He looked up at you with a pleading expression in his eyes. “I mean—you just got here. You have been here only a few months.” Frustrated—mostly at the paperwork you told yourself—you began reviewing the paperwork. “You don’t list any problems with the team or the individual team members. You don’t list a specific reason you want to leave such as a better location or to change positions.” You glanced at him around the computer. “Is there a better position? One you would want to fill?”

His eyes went wide and you could tell that something had excited his imagination. But rather than explain, he simply closed his eyes and took a deep breath and clenched his hands around his knees. After a long, thoughtful moment, he shook his head slightly and said, “Unfortunately—there is nothing else I... want. To do. Nothing... else.” He turned a shade you had previously associated with tomatoes and then glanced away. “I... that is, I do not know that... I could do... anything else... useful.”

“So, nothing else you’d rather do. No problems listed with the team. Is there anything you want to discuss?” He puffed out a breath and sat back with a shake of his head. “Then... I’m not sure there’s any reason to approve the transfer.”

He watched you for a long moment, his gaze surprisingly direct as he met your eyes. Finally, he leaned forward and whispered, “Please. Approve the transfer.” You shook your head and he hissed out, “If you have... ever... had any kind of... respect or... anything for me—please, approve the transfer.” One shaky hand reached out to your desk, only to flinch back as if he had touched some devilishly hot thing. “I... make... no complaints. S-s-say what you wish. But... if you ever.... Please just approve the transfer.”

“I don’t understand.” You leaned forward slightly. “Please, help me understand what is going on, because I can’t help you if I don’t understand what’s going on. Is it the team? Has someone said something?”

He chuckled in a dry way. “No more than usual.”

“Has someone done something?” You waited a beat and saw that there was no reaction to that either. “Was it...? Was it... something about the escape room?” You took a moment and he set his jaw in that mulish, bulldog way. “Look, I understand that it was... not the best idea. I do appreciate you... handling it and getting out when you did. I apologize—.”

“No. Nothing like that.” Was it the slight dust in the air, or were his eyes glistening? “I... appreciate how you... chose to handle it. I apologize for... my behavior.”

“So, it is the escape room.”

“But... if you... have any... reason for mercy—please, approve the transfer.”

“When you tell me why.”

He stared at you as if he were just now seeing you. Then, his face shuttered and he pulled away. His face went pale and he sat far back in his chair. There was no specific move he made, but you could just tell that he had cut himself off from you entirely. Finally, he said, “I see....”

You felt like screaming. Instead, you whispered, “I just.... Look, I have to put something down. Some reason that you are leaving—otherwise it looks like I’m a bad leader.”

His frozen expression didn’t change. “You have no mercy.” After another moment, he gave you a curt nod and stood. “I was.... I apologize. I was wrong.”

You stood as well, trying to figure out what to say next. You gave him a short bow—that was the right thing to do, right?—and said, “I apologize as well. I will.... Perhaps we revisit this at a later time. In the meantime, I will see you at tomorrow’s morning meeting.”

He didn’t respond, simply nodded and gave you an equal bow. “Tomorrow.” You stared as he muttered under his breath while he turned toward the door.

“Agent—was there something you wanted say to me?!” you demanded.

He smirked and finally said, “Anata in wa jihi ta arimasen.”

“And what was that?”

“You have no mercy.”

He was gone in another moment. You flopped in your chair and marked the transfer request as “Pending”. He was going to be fine until he cooled off. Still, you stared at the computer screen for far longer than you meant to, wondering what you were going to do.

You let things ride for another week. You trained with your team and by yourself. You worked with your pulse rifle and attended a briefing from Winston on the new ammunition he had designed to capture Reaper. You kept up with some new developments that the intelligence department had put together. There would be another mission quite soon—you’d bet the cocky bastard wouldn’t be able to resist some of the new tech the Colombians were developing. You met with your team daily at least, keeping them abreast of everything that you knew.

A cold snap hit soon thereafter and your team laughed about hauling out the ugly holiday sweaters and the clunky boots. You laughed with them, let them make jokes and tried to keep the spirits up. If you weren’t mistaken, you were about to be sent out on a mission somewhere and everyone needed some down time before the hard work hit. You wanted your team up to the task and ready to go—even the stubborn archer.

At the end of the day, you collected your tablet and your phone and everything into your bag. The commanders had announced that your team would be leaving soon and you wanted to spend every moment you could preparing. You locked up your desk, your file cabinet and your office and began walking back across base to your apartment. The night air was breathtaking and you could blow puffs of steam that glittered under the moon. Immediately, you thought of the holidays which put you in a good mood. The ground would grow crunchy and glitter with frost. There would be holiday lights and candies and cookies and it would seem like the world would be alive with music.

You were caught up in holiday ideas and nearly missed seeing the archer. He stood off by himself under a tree and you smiled to see that he was wearing your scarf. He stood there, looking up at the stars, stroking the alpaca wool absently. His breath puffed out as he watched the night sky.

You turned and walked up next to him. “Hey. Room for one more?”

He jumped sideways to stare at you. “You are asking...?”

“Sorry. You looked so peaceful that I wanted to try it out.” You gave him a smile. “I’m sorry. I just... Never mind.”

“No... N-n-no.... I do not mind.”

You stood beside him and looked up at the sky with him. “It’s... beautiful out here.” He looked at you and nodded. “Do you like stargazing?”

“Hmm. I like to see the stars. It is... peaceful to see them come out.” He leaned close enough you could vaguely smell the scent of vanilla and sandalwood and pointed. “Those three there are Orion’s belt.” He straightened up. “The hunter who carries... both a bow and a sword....”

You nodded again. “I can find the dippers—most of the time. Enough to find the North Star.”

“A worthy point.”

“Look—I apologize. If it is... that important, I’ll approve the transfer.” You shrugged. “I mean, before the next mission.”

Immediately, he blurted out, “Is Genji going?”

“Not this time. It’s a short mission to grab an informant. If we are lucky, it will be in and out. He isn’t coming this time.” You shrugged. “He wasn’t interested in a quick in and out.”

“But he was... asked?”

“He offered,” you admitted. “But I said no. I need the team to be united and we’re doing a quick in and out. Setting up the logistics to get out is going to take longer than the mission.”

“You said... no.” He nodded thoughtfully. “And....”

“And I will approve the transfer. You will be able to go back to whatever you were doing.” You shrugged and nodded. “So, that’s that, I guess.”

“I.... I am not doing anything. In a few months, my current enlistment with Overwatch will end.”

“And what will happen then? Where will you go?” He shook his head. “I mean... will your pardons and stuff hold out?”

“Pardons?!” he whispered. “How did you—? Ah... the transfer paperwork perhaps.” He shrugged and looked at the base. “I do not think that... working with Overwatch is... helpful.” His laugh was bitter and short. “I cannot find redemption or peace here. Not with Genji. Not with myself.”

“You’re leaving?!”

“I saw that... in the game. There is no point to staying.” He waved and it swept over the base from horizon to horizon. “Everyone else here has a purpose, a goal, a place that they fill.”

“So do you.”

“I have no place here.” He snorted. “I have no place among others if I am prone to uncontrollable violence.”

He shuddered and looked up with some expression in his eyes. On impulse, you put your arm around his waist. He gasped and stiffened, looking down at you with that blazing in his eyes. Then, as you stood there, he gradually relaxed and put a shaking hand on your shoulder. You both stayed like that in the silence of the night and, for all you knew, you were going to stay there until sunrise. Ever so slowly, he turned to you and put his other hand on your other shoulder so that he could face you.

“Why are you doing this?” he whispered, his breath a foggy cloud.

“What?”

“You are... so soft. You offer warmth to everyone—even to me.” He dared to step closer until he was right up at you. “It is warm and... you are gentle.” He cocked his head and you thought you saw his eyes glimmering again. “How are you so soft and warm in this place?”

“Uhhh...?”

“And... you are... soft—.”

“You just said that.”

He shook his head and stepped close enough that he could awkwardly embrace you. It was a half second before he stepped back. “You do not refuse?”

“A hug? Why would I...?”

“From... a weak man.”

“I might if there was a weak man here.”

He paused for a long, stunned moment as he stared at you. “Ahh. A joke.”

“Yeah. A bad one.” You waggled your eyebrows. “Thankfully, I don’t need to depend on my jokes to make money.”

“It was a... funny joke.” His deadpan expression gave you very little hope that it was at all funny. You shook your head and shrugged and he hissed, “Would you let a weak man embrace you?”

“I think you’re talking about yourself, but you aren’t weak, Hanzo.” You patted his arms. “See? Muscles on muscles.”

His head dipped and he could not look at you. “No strength of body could overcome weakness of mind.”

“What do you mean?”

“A good man should not weep. Should not mourn. A good man should not... should not want as much as I.” You were compelled to embrace him. He stiffened, almost pulling back, but then, with a soft moan, he stepped that final half step to wrap his arms around you. “And... I am weak for this. Do not... do not—.”

“It’s okay.”

Tears filled his eyes and you would have sworn that you felt one hit your clothing. “I should not—,” he murmured. “But when I am like this, I cannot refuse.”

You let him stay like that. Gradually, he went from hard and stiff to warm and pliant. It must have taken a quarter hour or more as his breath stuttered in and out. Each breath was deeper than the last, making him seem like he was somehow relaxing.

Finally, he murmured, “This... makes even staying with Overwatch seem worthwhile.”

“Then, why are you leaving?”

He sighed and glanced aside. “It is a danger if I can not be under my own control.”

“Is that all? Because of one bad incident—a mistake? Or is it more?”

“You speak as if... my mistakes could be forgiven.” He finally smiled at you, his breath in puffs in the air. “And now, you make me... believe that.”

“You can be....” You tried to give him a smile. “You can have a place here.”

“With you? Or with Overwatch?” His smile faded slightly. “After all I’ve done—there is no return. After what happened....”

“What did happen? I mean—you can tell me now?” You nodded at his surprised expression. “If I don’t tell and if you are leaving anyway, it doesn’t matter if you talk about it, right?”

He shrugged and looked around. He might have spoken but right at that moment, someone walked down another path. He instantly tensed and even his arms tightened around you. As soon as whoever it was turned around a different building, he sighed and then looked down at you. “If it is so important to you, I suppose it cannot hurt.” He watched the empty yard carefully. “Are you cold? I would like some tea.”

“Sure. There is a good 24 hour coffee shop just off the base.”

He shook his head, suddenly grim as his arms dropped. “In private.” Absently, he stroked the scarf. “I suppose I should have known that your gifts would exact a price. If you are that truly curious, I will tell you over tea at my apartment.” He walked off without waiting for you. A few steps away, he snapped over his shoulder, “If you think it is safe, of course.”


	8. Chapter 8

It was safe enough. You knew exactly where you were and there was no phone on the base you couldn’t call for help if you needed it. You were fine going to his place. He let you in and was obvious about not locking the door before he went to put a kettle of water on. You took off your shoes and settled them beside his.

The bow was in its ceremonial place and the apothecary chest seemed to gleam. The scroll on the wall still seemed to be filled with color despite the mere gray ink on bamboo paper. The low table with the cushions still gleamed and you were surprised to see the candle you gave him in the middle of the table next to a box of matches. It was almost completely gone and the apartment had a slight trace of the perfume.

In several minutes, he brought out a small tray with two cups and a matching pot of ivory ceramic decorated with sprigs of bamboo painted in olive green, a small plate held lemon slices and a brown bowl of honey with a spoon in it.

You watched as he poured you and then himself brilliant green tea. He offered you the lemons and honey and then took two spoons of dark amber honey for his own. The tea was delicious and warmed you to your toes and you sighed in pleasure at it.

He was posed there with his fingers wrapped around the cup and his other hand balancing the bottom of the cup. His eyes watched you with a deep glimmer in them. With a solemn nod, he set down his cup and lit the candle.

“I light it for my evening meditation,” he murmured as he picked up his cup of tea again. “I can have light and warmth and, at last, a little....” He shrugged. “It is a comfort.”

You had nothing to say to that except, “I am very glad that it’s... uhm... helpful.”

He nodded and sighed. “I was highly honored. To get a gift just for me that is of light and warmth and sweetness.” He stared at it. “I suppose it was too much to hope that the gift was without cost.”

You shook your head, color burning your cheeks. “It is. This is not about the gifts.”

“Is it not?” He nodded. “Is it not about using my gratitude to force me to discuss things I would prefer to keep hidden?”

“If this is going to turn into a fight, I’m leaving.” Your eyes narrowed, finally irritated with him. “I would like to just talk.”

He nodded. “Very well.”

“Could we start at the beginning?”

He set down the cup carefully and stared at the candle. “What beginning would that be? My beginning as a yakuza? Or at Overwatch?”

“Which beginning do you want to start with?”

“Neither.”

“What happened at the escape room?” You took a sip. “It looked like... PTSD.”

He stared at you for a long time, an uncertain frown on his face. “I... do not understand.”

“Okay.... It looked like something in that room... reminded you of something horrible. Something you wanted to fight your way out of.”

He was nodding before you finished. “It looked... just like a room—.” He waved slightly. “Actually, it looked like... a lot of different rooms. Every clan has them tucked away somewhere.”

“Every... clan?”

He shuddered as he stared at the candle. “I want your... word. Nothing leaves this place.”

“Of course.”

He glanced up to study you for a moment and then went back to stare at the candle. His face went blank and he shivered again. “I will lose everything if I speak, but if I do not, I will lose everything anyway.” He seemed to grow clammy and he held his hands over the candle as if for warmth despite the room being quite comfortable. “I suppose that a man as weak as I does not deserve anything.”

You were going to protest, but he kept going. “Every clan has a room like that. It is... always dark, always cold. It has a chair with cuffs like that.”

His voice went cold and distant and his hands shook. “There was a fire pit. A bucket. A tray of tools. It is... underground so that no one can hear you scream.”

His whole body was shuddering and you scooted over to sit next to him. Somehow, he didn’t seem to see it, to feel it. “There is always someone there. There is a pit under the floor to keep you from escaping and the back door always leads to an alley with a truck so that... so that...”

“‘So that’ what, Hanzo?” you whispered. You regretted speaking immediately as he scowled at you. You were afraid he was going to answer. You were afraid then that he was not. And then, you realized that you knew the answer as he turned back to look at the candle. “I’m so sorry, Hanzo.”

“I was the Shimada Scion, like my father before me. I had to know how to... do that. I had to know what happened.” You patted his arm, but he was lost to his memories. “My father took me there the first time.”

“How old were you?”

“I was five.” You swallowed and couldn’t help but reach for him. On some level, he might reject it, but for right now, you needed to hold him before the two of you shattered. “I was five and there was a thief. You will say it was small time—holding up a convenience store—but he was from another clan.

“He was there—in that chair. He had... been shaved, beaten. He was tied to that chair with leather cuffs and hadn’t eaten or bathed in days. My father brought me in to... to show me the room. He handed me a burning poker. He handed me a stripped wire, put that thief’s feet in the bucket of water. He told me that I was the Shimada Scion, that I needed to learn to be tough. I needed to learn how to do the things that no one else would.”

You were hoarse as you whispered, “What happened?”

“He was taken to the truck out in the alley. Two kyodai drove the truck away.” He shuddered violently and you felt nauseous. “I... vomited as it drove away.” He nodded to nothing. “I was told that it was important to show that I was next. That the Shimada was always going to be strong.” You felt the shudder through his whole body. “The Shimada-gumi seemed to always have someone in the room. Someone who needed to be taught a lesson. Someone who needed to tell us something. Someone who needed to be made an example of.”

“And then what happened?” you asked softly.

“I was... seventeen.” He took a healthy swallow of his tea, staring at the candle. “My father woke me up on my birthday and told me I would not be going to school. He took me to the room.” Another sip of tea in shaking hands. “I thought it... was a trick, but he strapped me to the chair.”

“Hanzo... no.”

“Six days. It was six days. M-my hair was shaved. My... father was there and, when he grew tired, he called my... my uncle. I was lucky. I was taken out the first door to my room. The doctor came to my room and the herbalist was given a room on the estate. I had a broken ankle. Infected sores. I could not walk, couldn’t speak. I vomited when I finally got something to eat.” He shrugged. “Another clan was blamed.”

He paused and looked down at you with pitiless eyes. “I survived. I had mountains of schoolwork to do while I rested. I did nothing but rest and sip broth and did my schoolwork. I was lucky to have survived, but he forbade even my mother and my brother from visiting me. He told them that he had sent me to Osaka for my birthday.” There some something that was almost a laugh, but was took broken for humor. “My brother would not speak to me for days because he was jealous that I had gone to Osaka without him.”

“And... and your mother?”

“She knew.”

You reached around to grip him. “Poor Hanzo.”

“If I disobeyed the clan, I was in the room. If.... I was supposed to teach Genji. I was supposed to do the same, to make Genji tough. I was sent to the room if he disobeyed the clan. I was sent... over and over.” Even from his profile, you could see his agony. “I was sent there and Genji and Mother were told I had gone on some trip or was on some errand for the clan.” He let out a bitter sound. “I did send Genji on trips from time to time to avoid putting him in the room.”

You felt a shiver of cold run down your spine. Instinctively, you pulled away and knelt as he knelt. Bowing low over your bent legs, you pressed your forehead to your fists on his carpet. “I... Fuck. I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

His cold, watery eyes drifted slowly to you to watch you on his floor. “Why are you..?”

“I apologize, Hanzo. I had no idea that the escape room would bring up all this. I had no idea that the game would include a room like that. I apologize that it triggered this.”

“You had... no idea.” He looked back at the candle. “No one was to know. We all did, though. Every clan had one. If you got caught—got taken—you would get taken to one. I was not to be killed—I was worth more alive than dead—but I saw them.” He ignored your shocked gasp. “The Katakana clan had theirs in the back of their basement casino.”

You finally pulled yourself up. “I am so sorry, Hanzo.”

“I was sent there.”

“Hanzo... what happened next?”

“My father sickened. The great Sojiro—the Demon Dragon—fell ill. I was supposed to be getting him medicine, but I went too far and had to turn around. I was in the Katakana clan’s territory and they took me to their room. In the three days I was there, the Demon Dragon died. The clan fought and got me back, but it was too late.

“I was barely back, but the elders demanded punishment. I was in the room—it was behind my father’s office—for three days. Then, they released me as if nothing had happened. I was allowed to be oyabun, but there was no mistake that I was actually in charge. The elders would... I was forced into the room as punishment for... for Genji’s sins as well.

“The last time. It seemed to be... forever. It was... seven days at least. I do not... truly remember. I remember... pokers. Whips.” He waved his hand as if batting away insects and the candle flame flickered wildly. “There was... an electric prod. The elders made excuses to their families to be gone for a while and took turns. I hated them more as they demanded I kill Genji. They... they shouted it over and over. Played recordings of that—‘You must kill Genji’—over and over.

“I would see them eating, drinking, when I thirsted and hungered. I saw them in... well made suits when I shivered. If I asked for water, my head was held in a bucket. If I asked for food, I would be given moldy bread and vinegar. If I asked to be released, I would be put into the pit. Or chained tighter.” He licked his lips as if he tasted the remembered sweat and thirst. “And when they released the chains and opened the door, they released a monster.

“I barely remember it. I found Genji at a... hotel. He had clean clothes. He had bottles of wine and sake and water so clear it seemed like a dream. He had a feast in front of him. There were two women with him and he was... in a private room. He had a clean haircut, whole. He smiled.”

You whispered, “Hanzo....”

“I remember fighting him. He... he defeated me easily and went back to his room.” Hanzo shook his head. “So, I waited. I waited in the rain until he was asleep with his whores. I poisoned the women and then gave him whatever was left. Not much—I only had enough for two completely lethal doses. I hated him so much that... I drug his body to an Overwatch outpost. I put his sword in his hand and alerted the guards. Then I shot him with four arrows and left him for dead. I remember the guards coming out and I remember going to the street—hearing them behind me as they screamed for medics—and driving away. I remember going back to the estate and eating and bathing. I remember calling for a whore and hearing the breaking news reports that the body of Genji Shimada had been found in front of the Overwatch outpost. A whore was taken to my quarters and... I forget who she was, what she looked like. I remember sleeping for a long time, waking up alone.”

“What happened?”

“She was found in... in a landfill. Genji was dead—his obituary had been in the papers while I slept. The elders convened and I... I drank with them to seal their bond of loyalty to me.” He shrugged. “Then, I drank. I drank and I drank and I drank. I suppose I slept at times. I suppose that I ate. I do not remember.”

He fell over then, almost landing on top of you. His words had snapped some string inside him and like a puppet, he collapsed into pieces on the floor. You crept closer to him and finally reached out to stroke his hair. His eyes were wide open, unblinking, and his skin was covered in a thick sweat as he panted there. At first, he didn’t seem to even be aware you were there, trying to touch his face and neck and hair.

“I do not remember killing her—the whore. I do not remember the day after.” His eyes stayed focused on something you could not see. “I remember the pit.”

“You are here, Hanzo. You are safe. You are not in the pit.” You repeated your reassurances over and over. “You can come out.”

After forever had long since passed, Hanzo’s eyes flicked closed. He let out a shuddering sigh and the last tension seeped away. Like a forlorn and frightened kitten, he let out a pleased sound and pressed ever so slightly closer to you. When your hand brushed from the streak of gray at his temple down to his neck and tucking the errant strands behind his ear, he let out a throaty sound and drug himself across the carpet to you, to nuzzle your thigh and lay against you leg.

“You can come out, Hanzo. You are safe.”

“No. Not safe. Not here.” A hand dug through the carpet with a ripping sound. “No one here knows. No one here knows the pit like I do.” He hissed and cuddled against you. “I will burn it down. Destroy the pit.”

“You are safe, now, Hanzo. It is not real.”

“Destroy the pit and keep... you safe.”

“You are safe, Hanzo. I am safe.”

He let out a moan and whispered, “I am too weak. I cannot stand it anymore—this pain. The pain they put inside me.” He sighed and his breath wafted across your thighs. “And then... you tell me that I have... some chance. You say that I can earn redemption.”

“You can.”

“Not if I am weak.” He looked up from his place on the floor with tears in his eyes. “Do you believe that I can earn redemption—as weak as I am?”

“Yes,” you whispered. You brushed his hair back from his face. “Of course you can.”

He pulled himself up and sat right next to you. “When I can... see you, I can believe. I can believe that you believe it.” He scrubbed his face with his hands. “If I can... achieve redemption....”

“You can.” You fumbled around and found a crumpled napkin in your bag. “Here, we can clean you up.”

He stood as you did and you tugged his hand until he was in the bathroom. With as much gentleness as you could muster, you dabbed at his face with a cool washcloth. He stood there silently and did not protest as you helped him. Every caress of the cool cloth made his eyes close and a soft, pleased sound escape.

As you brushed his brow, he smirked and blindly nodded. “You are so soft, so gentle.” You grinned at his chuckle. “I can believe that... even I could find... redemption.” Inexplicably, he scowled suddenly, despite not moving a muscle otherwise. “Why do you make me believe that even one as weak as I deserves this mercy?”

“Because you do.”

“It is true. They say that I am kyodaigoroshi. Uragirimono.” He sighed heavily and nuzzled into the cloth. “I did kill my brother—and many more. I killed them and I am a yakuza.”

“Not any more.”

“It is like a koan. If I am yakuza, I am a traitor and uragirimono for attacking my brother. If I am Overwatch, I have betrayed my father, my brother, my clan. I cannot be both. I cannot be both as they are like summer and winter at once. If one hand clapping is a riddle, being both at the same time is worse.”

You shook your head. “You were conditioned. That’s like fucking brainwashing. They tortured you until you did what they said.”

“I should have been strong. I should have resisted.”

“Seven days of torture. No one should be subjected to torture and you survived seven days.” You gave him a sour look that he did not see because he was arching like a cat being stroked. “You tried your best.”

“My best was not good enough.”

You did finally stop and he let out a whine before looking down at you. “I am still your commanding officer and we are on a team and I am telling you that you are worthy.” You puffed out a frustrated breath. “I’m gonna tell you to get to therapy. You and Genji both.”

He nodded and led you back to the room where he knelt and stared at the lit candle before sipping whatever was left of his lukewarm tea. “I had... hoped that if... I could... save Genji, just once, it would somehow make up for killing him.”

“So, you’ve been risking your life to try to make it up to him.”

“I had hoped, but it is not going to happen. It was a childish wish, I suppose. If you can take a left instead of a right, you can go around and then get there, but it is impossible.” He looked around at the apartment. “I will not renew. I will leave. Perhaps that will give us both peace.”

“Did Genji... ever know about... the... the room?”

Hanzo stared at you and frowned. “I do not know that he did.” His face went white. “Did I fail in that as well? That he....” Tears formed in his eyes. “I... was told he would.. never have to know. That he would never be in there if I... obeyed.”

You frowned. “I... I don’t know.”

He nodded. “Let him... have peace in this. Let him rejoice in his ignorance. He does not need to know.” His eyes were wide and staring at the candle. “If he does not know, let him remain so. I will do whatever I must... to preserve that innocence. There is so little left.”

You sighed and stared at the candle. “Let me talk to him. See if he will talk to me. Maybe he will....”

“You should pursue him.”

“I should... what?!”

“You and he would be good together. He is... strong, able. As I recall, he... liked dancing. Drinking. He played video games, but he... always could show a... beautiful woman respect. Treat her as glass.” He shrugged. “You will... not fear with him. He will not lose control.” He laughed even though it sounded like ground glass. “He even likes those... escape games.”

“What?”

“Be sure to search him. He likes to pick the locks before their time.”

“I... will, I guess. I will tell his commanding officer.” You cocked your head to look at him curiously. “But... what about you? What will you do?”

“I will... survive. As I have always done. After I leave, I will see China again, perhaps. Or Siberia. Hokkaido.” He smiled with more warmth than you had ever seen on his face. “I will treasure the birthday. I did not know that they could... be so lovely. So warm. So... sweet and scented. I have been dreaming that... perhaps next year, I would... have another.” He sighed. “It is a welcome dream in my nightmares.”

You patted his hand as he lapsed into silence. “Do I... wish you a good night?”

“Good night? Must it be?” He nodded and blew out the candle. “Then, I will remain grateful for one more night.”

“Are you going to be okay?” You frowned and looked at him. “It’s... been a tough few days.... For everyone.”

“I have my meditations. If all else fails, I have sake.”

“You drink to bury that pain, don’t you?” He shrugged and you couldn’t figure out what to say next because that was a hell of a lot of pain to try to deal with. “Can you... call me? I mean, just let me know that you need some time?”

He said nothing, only rose and showed you the way out.


	9. Chapter 9

Even after the extract mission, Genji’s and Zenyatta’s words stayed with you. You mulled over what he had told you for a few days before you started going back to the playground in the hopes to find Genji and Zenyatta again. Of course, now that you wanted to find him, you couldn’t. He was gifted like that—to be able to disappear just when one needed him. So, finally, you made an appointment with Zenyatta.

The monk agreed to meet you in a meditation garden and you blocked out the time. It seemed like it would never come as you plowed through the day. A part of you was excited to try to figure this out, but a part of was terrified. What if you made things worse? Of course, they took the usual brotherly epithet of “I’m gonna kill you” a little more seriously than most, so you how much worse could you make it?

Zenyatta knew the new Genji better than anyone. He’d have some answers. You hoped he’d have answers, anyway. It was pretty certain that you’d not get any answers from Genji and Hanzo seemed like regretted talking to you in the first place. He was so macho that he likely regretted telling you anything about anything. So, not Hanzo. Not Genji since he was in hiding. Zenyatta was likely your best shot.

You found him sitting cross-legged at a bed of long stemmed mums. When they bobbed in the breeze, his head bobbed up and down loosely as well. When a bee buzzed over the blossoms, he buzzed back. The bee apparently heard him and flew over to land on his shiny head and begin walking over every feature—his slit eyes, the little dots that you had been told were for the air cooling and speakers, down his neck to underneath his jaw. At last, it decided that there was nothing there and, with another buzz of its wings it flew off.

At last the monk saw you. He waved absently and you came up to sit next to him. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

He nodded and said, “The bee does not wander far from his honey.”

You stared at him, gaping. “Umm.... My apologies—but I don’t understand.”

“Perhaps I speak of my insect friend, wandering over this shell of mine and looking for sustenance. Perhaps I speak of men, who wander over this earth looking for something to sustain him.”

You paused and considered the fuzzy insect crawling over the mums. It stuck its head in a yellow center and then seemed to shake itself and then go on to the next flower. It seemed to get what it was looking for and flew off in a zigzag pattern that seemed very busy. Then another came and then three more came, bouncing from flower to flower and almost bumping into each other. Two ended up on the same flower and it bobbed wildly as they kept crawling over it.

“That’s pretty deep,” you murmured.

“Not at all,” he chirped. “It was in my quote of the day program.” You couldn’t resist laughing. “I was pondering the meaning as you arrived.”

“You are too much.”

“My student says the same thing. But I am not more Zenyatta than I was before. I am always the whole of Zenyatta.” He tapped his chin with a metallic finger. “My student is still learning. He is still angry about his brother. I would assume that is what you wanted to speak to me about.”

You nodded and ruefully whispered, “I think that... they are—.”

“They are poisoning each other with their anger, their rage. The battlefield is now the base, and we are all casualties if they cannot resolve it.”

“But... I think maybe they can fix it.” You shook your head and frowned. “I mean, they are both so... macho. They don’t want to show any weakness to each other. To anyone, I suppose. But there is so much I think that they... don’t understand.”

There was a long pause before Zenyatta replied, “My student still suffers in his way. There is much that has happened to him and his karma has not been easy. He suffered much in the past, but now he suffers much of his own making. His rage makes him suffer.” He nodded in that loose way. “Tell me what you think will ease the suffering of my student.”

“He needs... well, there’s not a good way to say this, but he needs to talk to Hanzo.” You puffed out a breath. “I mean, I don’t know brothers or sisters that don’t fight with each other. I get that.” You tapped your knees with your fingers. “I saw the official reports. That Hanzo killed Genji, but... there is so much I don’t think that Genji knows. It won’t change the past, but it might be good to at least get them talking.”

Zenyatta nodded as another bee began investigating his arm. “I see.”

“Look... I don’t even know if this can be fixed.” You let out a sigh as a second bee flew clumsily into the first, sending it scurrying off in another direction. “And... I absolutely can not have either of them—.”

“I will not speak of this. It is a counselor’s privilege—is it not? So tell me, what do you think will help them?”

“Hanzo was... tortured.” Your eyes burned as you hissed, “He was taken and tortured for like a week. The elders... they tortured him and then released him to kill Genji.” Immediately you flushed and your voice lowered, “I think... he is the one who did it. I think that he would die before he admitted it, that he was trying to stop the pain.”

“And you know this?”

Everything tumbled out—the birthday gifts, the long night waiting for Genji to return, the escape room—and before you knew it, you were sobbing and whimpering. The monk nodded and took off the long scarf from around his waist and handed it to you. You stared at it, tracing the delicate design in the fabric before he plucked up a corner and dabbed at your face. You kept talking. “And Hanzo... he regrets it. He is.... He is talking about leaving. That he can’t earn his forgiveness and so he’s going to go back to China or Siberia or somewhere.”

“And you do not want him to leave?”

“I mean... no. I... That is... He’s—.”

Zenyatta nodded as if you had been coherent. “My student does indeed need to hear these things. He needs to know that he was not rejected or hated, but he does not need to hear them from you. He needs to hear these things from his brother if they are to be healed.” Zenyatta tilted his head. “How interesting that they would both be healed if they both would talk to each other.”

“I think that they are going to both going to die before they admit weakness.”

“You may be right.”

“Can you tell me something? Is Genji right? No alcohol. No sex. Is there really nothing that can be done?”

Zenyatta gave you a little beep. “He does not ask, so there is nothing that can be done.”

“What?!”

Zenyatta nodded at you. “And you think that we monks are so holy? That we have no vices?”

“No. No. Wait a minute. You what?!”

“As young monks, we are allowed to sample such things. It is a holy process to sample wine and beer, to sample a smoky leaf. Then, when we understand these things, we decide for ourselves our vows. We do not understand the temptations of others until we do.”

“You get high? Get drunk?”

Zenyatta beeped several times in a variety of tones which sounded like maybe a form of laughter. “We do not understand a great number of things. We do not understand the need to eat when all we need to do is to plug into a recharge station. We do not understand the need to drink or thirst. We do not understand the need to sleep, to rest. We do not understand a dream. How can we possibly understand humans if we do not do as they do? If we do not understand the most basic things that humans do?”

There was another few notes and he resumed, “So, as part of our training, when we are ready, we spend time doing things that humans do. I, myself, spent a year sampling alcohols from around the world. While it is true for me to say that I do not fully understand it, I can analyze samples of alcohol, filter them from my cooling and hydraulic systems, and then run a sub-routine that slows my processing and randomizes my memory accesses. It is an interesting experience in moderation, but excessive consumption does become highly unpleasant.”

You thought about it for a moment. “So, you got high, too?”

“A most unpleasant experience. My visual routines continued to flash random images for approximately a month. I had a lack of coordination and my extremities were irregular in their performance.”

“What did you take?!”

“I had simulations of heroine, marijuana, LSD and VVB. I ran 52 individual simulations with cocaine. I did not choose to experience the drug opium or ecstasy.” He tilted his head. “I also experimented with obsessive behaviors by watching the entirety of the ancient entertainment known as DragonBall—all of them, in order, and devoted a considerable amount of my memory resources to recording every significant detail.” He tilted again in a different way. “I spent extensive time explaining the details I had recorded to see what the social reactions were.”

You snorted and smiled. “So, that’s one question. What about sex?”

“Alas, I have not the appropriate form or dongle to experience physical affection in the human way.” You puffed out a breath. “However, I do not see why something could not be created if his existing parts are nonfunctional.”

“Wait. He’s got his uhhh... parts?”

Zenyatta shrugged. “He does have the necessary parts. Unfortunately, he lacks the will to use whatever he has.”

“What? He’s constantly got women and sometimes even men hanging around him. He’s got company.”

“Again, he does not ask. Perhaps you can explain why.”

You shook your head. “I don’t see why. But... maybe he doesn’t like what he looks like? I guess, maybe he’s still so mad that he doesn’t see what can happen. I don’t know.” You puffed out a breath. “I guess I’d be hung up on all the things I couldn’t do, that I would know to even ask the questions about what I could do, either.”

“A very valid and insightful point.” The monk nodded slowly. “I would have assumed that he had enough previous experience he did not need to do further research, and perhaps that is my own oversight.” 

“I still don’t know how to make him see that there’s better things than raging against Hanzo. And Hanzo can’t heal without Genji getting over himself.” You flopped over, your face in your palms. “What a mess!”

He straightened and folded his hands into a thoughtful way. “When does the bee wander far from his honey?”


	10. Chapter 10

You thought about the monk’s question for days. When does a bee wander far from his honey? Finally, you had an afternoon free and you went to the base library to look up beekeeping. You learned... so much more about bees—both natural and Omnic reproductions—than you ever wanted to know. How they went from the hive to the flowers. How they communicated. How they reproduced. How important they were for pollination and why the Omnic bees were created.

The bee didn’t, generally, wander. It was a social creature. It had a social structure, a hierarchy. It had purpose. It went out, it got nectar and brought it back. They all collectively made honey and stored it in the hive so that they could eat it. The only things you could find about bees leaving was if they were exterminated, if a new queen was born and the hive split, or maybe if they were transported. But none of those seemed applicable.

When does the bee wander far from his honey?

Rage. Did a bee feel rage? Or sorrow? Did a bee seek redemption? Zenyatta’s riddle surely meant something, but what?

You had a stack of articles bookmarked and a library book of beekeeping in your office now. When you had a few minutes over lunch or while you were warming up your lunch, you read about bees. You didn’t realize how obsessed you were until Hanzo came up with a covered bowl.

It was cold and you smiled to see him wrapped in that scarf. “Hey, Hanzo. What’s up?”

“You... seemed like you needed a... lunch?” His eyes were wide, his steps cautiously light and he carefully set the bowl down on your desk. “You seem to be obsessed with your reading.”

“Wonderful.” When he whisked away the saucer from the top, your mouth watered to see the rice and vegetables and bits of fried eggs. “That looks amazing.”

“I am glad,” he whispered. “I thought you would appreciate a... meal.” He tugged lightly at the scarf and flushed. “I wanted to... thank you.”

“For what?”

“You... were kind. Gentle to me when I was unable to appreciate it.” His eyes went wide and he looked at you with caution on his face. “I... have always been.... I have thought it would be weakness to... to speak of those things.” He struggled to smile. “You have kept my confidence. You are so different than what I expected. I had not thought anyone could... accept... me with all of that.”

You smiled at him. “Hanzo... you are strong and capable. You have changed yourself into a worthy man.” You flushed as you tried to unscramble your thoughts. “Your past shaped you—but does not define you or determine your future.”

He smiled. “Th-thank you.” He rolled his shoulders uncomfortably and his eyes flicked to you and then away bashfully. “It was the least I could do.”

“I don’t know. It smells good and I am very hungry.”

He gave a bashful smile. “My mother’s stir fry. She would sometimes make it for me when... I would come home. I could sit and watch her make it.”

You nodded at the bowl. “Thank you.”

“Do you think... perhaps... you could come over again?”

“Come over?”

He nodded slowly, his face growing serious. “I have not ever slept so well. Just... sitting with you and... talking. I have never... told anyone.” You nodded slowly, ignoring your eyes as they gathered tears. “I thought that you would never speak to me again. That you would not believe me. I was going to... leave you alone.”

“But I don’t want you to do that.”

“I am hopeful that you will consider another birthday. Next year.” His eyes lit up despite his frown. “You will let me hope? For a second birthday like this one?”

“Of... of course.”

“Then I will accept that and try to... hope.” He held out his hand and you shook it. “Thank you for... a good night’s sleep and... for hope.”

He gave you a bow and let himself out silently as you began eating the stir fry. It was so thoughtful of him to try to make a meal for you. You were mid-paragraph about pollination when Genji came into the office.

“So, you’re the one talking to my master?” he burst out.

“Beg pardon?”

He flopped down into one of your office chairs and scowled at you. “Zenyatta. You remember him don’t you?” You nodded. “He has spent the past two weeks talking to me.”

“About...?”

“About his training as a monk,” he muttered and his face flushed red. “About his... vice. Or should I say, vices? Did you know he had a coke habit? Or a cocaine simulation habit?”

“And...?”

He groaned and flopped back in the chair. “How did I miss that? How did I miss that it could... happen?” His words burst out. “I didn’t know that Zenyatta even had vices. I didn’t know—it all happened years ago before I even met him.” He puffed out a hearty breath. “I thought that I could.” His eyes locked on to you. “I got drunk last night.”

“Isn’t that... good?” You stared at him. “I mean... isn’t that what you wanted?”

He scowled as he looked at you. “It was horrible.” You frowned in confusion. “I liked the taste and it was great but then... it was horrible. I couldn’t concentrate and my coordination went to shit.”

You kept staring. “I don’t understand.”

“I couldn’t control my limbs. I had no reaction time. I mean... one girl tossed me a napkin with her number on it and I couldn’t catch it and it hit the floor before I got it. Can you believe that?”

You took another thoughtful bite. “Okay.”

“It. Hit. The. Floor.”

“That sounds terrible.” You took a bite of your stir fry, pleased at the sweet-salty flavors. “Was there anything else?”

He looked at you with a sudden silence. “So, are you fucking Hanzo?”

“None of your business.”

“So you are.”

“No—none of your business.”

“So you aren’t?”

“I will neither confirm nor deny that—so drop it, okay?” You scowled at him. “Why are you doing this?!”

“It’s not like he’s my brother or anything. No, really, I go and ask normal, random people if they are fucking each other.” His eyes narrowed. “He’s my brother.”

“Yes.”

“And... and....”

You waited as he sputtered. Whatever was going on in his mind, it was incomprehensible to you. So, you ate your surprise lunch as he turned a ruddy shade. Finally, you cut in, “What Hanzo and I are doing is no one’s business except ours.”

“Well, you’re the one that has a big bowl of Mariko Shimada’s stir fry recipe.”

You stared at the bowl, unsure whether you wanted to continue or not. “What?”

“My mother—the honorable Mariko Shimada—made stir fry just like that with soy and honey sauce on top. If you go down to the bottom you’ll find a diamond of firm tofu surrounded by peas—.”

“Is that what that was?”

He burst out into laughter. “Now, I know that I got drunk for the first time in over a decade, but I wasn’t that bad off. I don’t think. I haven’t ever cooked drunk before. So, if I’m not the one who did it, it was my big brother.”

“You are... peculiarly good-natured today. And nosy. What’s going on?”

“I can get drunk. I can get high.” He blew an irreverent raspberry at your ceiling. “I can’t smoke and have it do anything, but I don’t like smoking anyway. But... it’s such a relief. After 10 fucking long years, I can... feel a little normal.”

You nodded slowly, poking at the cube of what apparently was tofu at the bottom of the bowl. “Umm... okay.”

“I can feel like a real man.” He seemed to sag into your chair. “I feel so... so amazing. It’s like I’m a man again. I feel like... amazing. I feel like the world is off my shoulders.”

“Well, Zenyatta will be happy, if—? Can Zenyatta even be happy?”

“Oh, he’s really psychotic right now.” He laughed. “Apparently, he decided that I am ready for this training. He called it that—‘training’—and he has unlocked all kinds of things. I can basically spend like the next month getting high and drunk.”

“The... next month?”

Genji sighed and leaned back to stare at the office ceiling. “Yeah, but it sucks, too, you know? I mean, aside from getting high, it... feels different. Getting permission and being locked into a room basically getting high and drunk makes it feel like work.” He shook his head. “And... it doesn’t feel good. It doesn’t feel like it’s... rebellious or edgy or anything. It doesn’t feel like a treat. It feels like... like I want to be sober. Like, my limbs and cybernetics don’t work right. My... mind feels fuzzy and the cybernetics seem to go in random directions. You know, it... kind of makes me think that Hanzo was right that it was all bad for me.”

You bit your lip to stop from laughing. “Really?”

“Yeah—Hanzo is such a stick in the mud and no fun at all, so I thought he was just being a snotty older brother.” He took a deep breath. “I thought he wanted me to be like him. All work and business and do good for the clan. I thought he didn’t want me to have any fun.” He took another breath. “I thought he wanted me to be just like him.”

“But he wanted good things for you.”

“Yeah. At least in the drug and alcohol stuff—he was... probably right.” He giggled again, his arms and legs doing little jerks. “But don’t tell him, huh? Let me have a little pride.”

You stared at him—his glassy eyes and lack of focus, lack of coordination. “You’re still a little high, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. At least a little.” He sighed again. “I am. But... this has also made me think. I can’t do anything when I’m high. I can’t think. I can’t move or react. I can’t do anything when I’m drunk.” Tears flowed down his cheeks unchecked. “I thought I was fine, you know. I thought that it wouldn’t hurt me. Now—now I can see that I was a fool.”

His wet eyes rolled to look at you. “So... I’m getting dried out. I’m bailing. After being... dry and sober and everything rolling on point—my Omnic abilities were so tuned up and now they’re crap with the... the drugs and stuff. I could balance on a wire on my tiptoes. I could jump off of a balcony and land just fine instead of wrecking my knees or ankles. I’m giving up all this extra training because... all it’s doing it reminding me how fucked I am when I’m high or drunk.” He swallowed noisily. “And it... kills me that Hanzo was right. Stiff-upper-lip and stuck up Hanzo who never had any fun and never had to—.”

You were going to snap at him, but you managed to hold your tongue. Finally, you trusted yourself to say, “I think that maybe you should think about it.”

“I can’t! Not until this stuff gets out of my head.” He sighed. “I buried it all. I kept getting drugs and alcohol and hoping that it would all go away, you know?” His eyes closed. “I keep dreaming and it’s all nightmares.”

“Nightmares?” you whispered.

He let out a broken laugh. “Yeah. If you have the time, I’ll tell you.”

You glanced at your schedule. There was an optional meeting you hadn’t wanted to attend anyway, and you sent your regrets with a few noisy taps of your finger. “Okay. My afternoon is free.” He nodded slowly as if he was sleepy. “Out of curiosity, why are you coming to me? I thought I was persona non grata?”

“If Hanzo actually goes to you, then you’re trustworthy. I don’t remember a single one of the people that Hanzo personally chose to trust that betrayed him.” He shrugged and sighed, “It was the people my father trusted that betrayed us. So, I guess if he can come to you—willingly—then I can, too.”

You nodded slowly, as if that was making sense. Genji was hopping from place to place to place in his train of thought and it was not easy to keep up with him. Particularly not with his conviction that Hanzo’s trust in you was meaningful in any way to himself. “Okay. So, you wanted to talk?”

“I have nightmares. My master doesn’t. None of the Omnic monks do—and I’m asking all of them.” He puffed out a breath. “I see all the people that I’ve killed. And Hanzo over me and trying to kill me.

“Like one time, I dreamed that I was on a basketball court and when I got the ball, I ran with it to the other side but when I got to the other side, there were explosions and when I shot the ball, it was bloody like a head. And the referee was Hanzo and he had a sword to cut off my hands.” You made a slight gagging sound. “The dreams are crazy. And I can’t wake up from them. It’s something with the Omnic charging station—I can dream and no matter how bad it is, I can’t wake up.

“I figured it was a part of the life. That it was a part of being yakuza and hey, it wasn’t that bad because I had it all, you know? I had money and fast cars and motorcycles. I had a custom bike that was all blue and black with the sweetest paint job of flames. Lights under the thing and it was like blue lightning. I loved that bike. My father got it for me.”

You shook your head with a smile. “What a... nice gift.”

He wasn’t listening anyway. “It was two turns left. Go to the convenience store on the left with the yellow sign. Take the next right. Go to the corner where the two porch lights were on. Knock on the door and say that Kumiko needed her medicine. They put paper bags in the bike or the backpack. Then go back—a left, two rights. Give whoever answers the bags, take the envelope and go back.” He shrugged. “It was easy—especially with a fast bike.”

“So, you were a drug mule?”

“Only a few times. Then, it was for fun. Just when I wanted to because there were always tips. I could take a tiny amount here and there. And if I wanted to stay home or go to a club, then I could let one of the shatei do it. That was their job, you know.” He sighed again. “And there was lots of perks—enough money to go out and do just about anything, go anywhere because no one wanted to upset the Demon Dragon, do anything. I wanted to go to the mayor’s house for a party, I just showed up with Ko, Yoshi, Aiko and Masamune as backup and went right on in. No one said anything.

“If I wanted to go somewhere, I went. If I wanted to do something, I did it. If I wanted to buy something, I did. My father was proud that we were living such a good life. He was the Demon Dragon and no one—not the chief of police, not the mayor, not anyone—was going to tell him no.

“All I had to do was show up. The House of Dragons—that was us. The Demon Dragon with the Dragon of the North as his Scion took care of it all. They handled the meetings. They arranged the deals. They knew everything about the clan. They knew the people. They knew what to do and when to do it. Literally, all I needed to do some days was show up and stand in the corner of the room. So, all I needed to do was stand there and not look as bored as I felt.

“So, it was fun to go out and do something. I could do a drug run. I could go set up a few girls on the corner of the block. I could do a job, tag along with Hanzo or something. A few times I asked to go along with him just because I was bored. He was so stuck up, so stiff, I brought him booze. Girls. Drugs. I tried to get him to relax.”

“I’d guess that didn’t work.”

“He was work and work and work some more.” He shrugged lightly. “The only time that I ever saw him even take a vacation was a couple times when our father forced him to go somewhere. Even then he’d be up and gone before anyone else. For all I know, he had a schedule: 4:30 a.m.- get up, 5:00 a.m.- drive to resort, 6:15 a.m.- check in, 6:20- go to room, 6:22- take off suit and hang it up.... He probably has a reminder on his calendar to brush his teeth and iron his socks.”

You grit your teeth. “And you think... he was on vacation? Where do you think he went?”

“Probably someplace boring. Father said once it was Osaka. Once he was supposed to be in China.” Genji sighed again. “Father said that he would drive Hanzo because otherwise he’d be in his office and wouldn’t go.”

“And you saw him on vacation?”

“Never. Well, not unless there was something as a family. A trip to Sapporo to a funeral—we all went as a family then. A trip to Okinawa to meet a ship that held some stuff and mother was to go visit some family.” He shrugged again in that strangely loose and boneless way. “Father was always keeping mother out of things. I don’t know how she didn’t kill him. He just told her it was ‘business’ and then sent her shopping or something. Sometimes he just told her to be quiet and leave him alone.”

You cocked your head. “And... that wasn’t weird? It wasn’t strange that Hanzo would go off by himself? Or...? What kind of shape was he in when he got back?”

Genji grimaced. “I don’t.... I don’t really remember.” He frowned. “He always came back in a full suit—down to cufflinks and necktie and a fedora. He’d go straight to work. Then he’d lock himself in his office for a week to catch up on what Father had been doing.” He craned his neck to look at you. “You know, I don’t know that I’ve seen him take a vacation since he joined Overwatch.” There was a long pause. “He must have an assload of time off stored up.”

You sighed. Talking to Genji was getting you roughly nowhere, but maybe... somehow you could get through to him. “I guess. But... surely you saw him, in all kinds of ways and at all kinds of times.”

“Yeah. I guess.” He winked at you and laid his head back down. “It’s almost like we were family or something.” There was another long pause. “Do you have any more of that? It smells really amazing.”

“Yeah... I mean... I guess it won’t hurt if you have some of it.”

He lurched up and grabbed the bowl to begin shoveling food into his mouth. You tried to ignore all the crumbs going everywhere. When he took a breath, you tried again, “Was Hanzo ever hurt?”

He looked up at you with his cheeks pooched out and grains of rice all over his face. “Hurt?”

“Yeah. I mean—he did get hurt, right?”

“Sometimes. You’d never know, though. He always wore long sleeves and pants. Formal kimono with a haori. A suit with a greatcoat.” He choked off a laugh around a huge bite. “He’s always, you know, hidden everything. If he’s hurt—we’ll know only when he tells us.” He shrugged. “And he drinks, you know. Yeah... lots. So, there was this one time—.”

“I think I liked you better sober, Genji.”

“What? Why? I’m just fine.” He let out a belch and wove uncertainly. “Umm... maybe not. What were we talking about?”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Was your father an honest person? Did he tell you the truth?”

Genji’s eyes were only a little glazed as he thought, mid-bite. “Umm... Sojiro? Honest?” He burst into laughter. “Only if you like dying.”

“So when he said Hanzo was on vacation—? A vacation that you never went on. A vacation that you didn’t see him return from. That wasn’t suspicious?”

Genji stared at you for a moment. “Umm... what?”

“What if Hanzo wasn’t on vacation, Genji?”

“But... where would he be? We were all over the estate and in the offices and stuff. Besides, why would he not be on vacation? Where would he be?”

You went pale as you thought about what to say. “What if he wasn’t on vacation? What if he had... been captured? Taken somewhere?”

“I’d know. Sojiro wouldn’t let anything happen to either of us. Right?” Suddenly, his eyes were wide and terrified. “He... would tell us if someone...? If the Scion was missing, he’d go nuts demanding to know. Hanzo was his heir. If something happened to Hanzo, the clan would be... vulnerable. We’d be seen as weak and we’d never see the end of the attacks.”

You sighed and rubbed your head. For a moment, you wanted to scream and throttle him. But it was Genji who put down the bowl again and whispered, “If... Hanzo wasn’t on vacation. If Hanzo was... captured. The only reason that Sojiro wouldn’t be tearing apart Japan would be... if he knew where he was....”

Then, Genji was standing. His face was a sickly green and he staggered out of your office.


	11. Chapter 11

You told yourself that you were going to wait, to let them figure things out. You were going to let things unfold. Besides, you had interfered enough in their lives. This was something they needed to take care of and you told yourself you were content that there weren’t any casualty reports. Hanzo appeared in the morning meetings with his scarf wrapped around his neck, signed the necessary cards, nodded and stayed mostly silent.

Genji appeared not at all. You would have sworn that he was making a concerted effort to avoid you, but that didn’t seem to be the case because he wasn’t anywhere. Your second thought was that he was doing that training—running simulations of being drunk or high—but Zenyatta appeared at regular intervals without him and seemed curiously ignorant of his student’s whereabouts. Indeed, apparently true to his word, Genji had stopped that particular brand of training that same day and excused himself, vanishing into the void and shadows. So, thought three was that he was ill or sick or something. You sent him a few messages and he replied twice—mainly telling you he had to go think and to please leave him alone—and so you finally sent him a message that you’d be happy to talk to him if he wanted.

And he didn’t want.

So, you kept to yourself, too. You made an effort to simply be available to talk, to be available if one of them needed you. Otherwise, you simply carried on as you had before. Hanzo’s transfer application occasionally dinged on your computer—going from “pending” to “waiting for response” to “late” to whatever happened to it when it finally aged off. (You had a merry little thought about it simply wandering off—you pictured a little yellow sphere for some reason—and falling over in a desert before dissolving away.) Despite the helplessness you tasted sometimes, you felt that you had... somewhat helped them.

Late one night, you were darting from the gym to your apartment in the darkness of the frost and chill of winter when you heard slurred singing. More than a little surprised, you darted around a building and saw Genji and Hanzo sitting on a bench together with two bottles on the ground at their feet and another in a paper bag between them.

Genji seemed... sober, sitting there and nodding to whatever his brother was saying. Hanzo seemed to be listening as well in his quiet and solemn way. Every so often, one of them would pick up the bottle and take a sip. The pair was quiet, looking at the passing evening and talking without harsh words or hurt that you could tell.

At first, you felt that impulse to go up and say something, but it felt like a private moment. The ninja was inexplicably solemn and the archer seemed to have a half grin on his face. There was still a stiffness, a clumsiness, as they sat on the bench like that, a certain distancing as if they were not quite sure how to handle it. You hadn’t ever watched brothers so desperately apart trying to reach out to each other. It was awkward and stiff and so clumsy, but it also seemed like the air was vibrating with how necessary it was. So, you quite wisely decided to keep going and let them figure things out by themselves.

Unfortunately, it marked a difference in Hanzo. He still attended your team meetings, still made a appearance when he was forced, but he was back to as stiff and almost unpleasant an attitude as ever. He did not speak to anyone—including you—for anything that was not directly and explicitly connected to him keeping his position with Overwatch. He offered no suggestions, no advice, no words of wisdom. He didn’t offer a single word of assent or support when you made suggestions or asked the team for ideas. He left as soon as he could, without so much as a nod towards you.

You also noticed that he put in a new request to transfer. This one listed a “conflict of interests” and “irreconcilable differences” as his reason for leaving and again it requested again to be the “Unknown/Unassigned” group. You sighed, wondering if he meant it and wondering if it meant he was ultimately leaving Overwatch entirely. Again, you messaged Genji—just to check on him—and there was no reply. You requested a time to talk to Hanzo, and he did not seem to even open your messages and he seemed to grow ever more slippery in avoiding you catching up to him casually.

You actually managed to find Zenyatta one frosty afternoon. He sat there in the meditation garden in his pantaloons and scarf, nodding at a branch of winter jasmine. Day or night, spring or winter, he always was in those brilliant orange pantaloons and the yellow scarf. At some point, you wanted to ask if the colors perhaps meant something like a martial arts belt. You had watched Omnics on television and they all generally wore pantaloons and a few had some kind of robes or sashes in various ties, and you didn’t know what to think—except that it was something you were curious about so that you didn’t have to get a headache thinking about the Shimada brothers.

He glanced over and waved at you, patting the bench beside him. “Come along, then. We will talk.”

You sat down next to him, staring at the garden. “Hey... ummm...? Do you have a moment?”

“Of course,” he said with a nod. “I would not have invited you over if I was not available to talk.”

You nodded back to him. “Okay. Thanks.” You paused for a long, thoughtful moment, just staring at the garden. “Can you... talk to me?”

“Of course. There is no error in my systems preventing me from responding to you.”

“About... about Genji.”

“My student is operating within normal parameters.”

“Is he... doing all right?” You let out an anxious puff. “I kind of... really....”

“You made him think,” the monk said firmly. “He has had to think, to recognize that he was not the only one to suffer.”

“I guess—but now, Hanzo hates me.”

“Oh?” He tilted his head curiously and his metallic spine clicked softly. “I see.”

“I thought... thought I was getting through, you know? I thought that I was... making him better. I thought I was helping.” You sucked in a frustrated breath. “And I... heard some things. Bad things. Things that... still hurt him.”

“And you saw him.”

“Saw him? Yeah, I guess. But now I am not seeing him anywhere.”

Zenyatta nodded slowly, the clicks of his body sounding like an old steel cattle brand cooling off. “He is invisible?”

“He may as well be,” you mumbled. “I can’t find him anywhere.” You stared at the garden without seeing a single thing. “I mean, he was starting to loosen up. You should have seen him when I gave him a birthday gift.” Zenyatta made a beeping sound and nodded, so you continued. “He was so overjoyed, and it was silly stuff.”

“This is unusual? Humans do enjoy gifts, or else there would be no tradition of exchanging gifts.”

“It was so stupid. I... I got mad because no one signed his birthday card. Almost no one. And so I went out during lunch and got him some stupid stuff and put it all in a bag and gave it to him. Told him that I’d do lunch or something with him.”

“And this seems to be within normal parameters.”

“But it didn’t turn out like that at all.” You felt a hoarse scratching at the back of your throat. “It just all happened. We.... it was like a date, but it wasn’t. Sort of.” Zenyatta nodded. “I had some time free and we went to the archery range. It was... honestly, the worst thing because I broke one of his arrows and they’re like... outrageously complicated and everything has to be imported and measured and trimmed and custom made. And I didn’t mean to break the thing, but I did.”

“And, as an archer and an expert, what was his reaction?”

“He... he said that it was all right and that he broke them often.” You shrugged. “But I still feel bad, like I should have replaced it.”

“And then what happened?”

“We... we went out to eat. Well, actually, Genji came out and started giving us grief.”

“I do not understand this—‘giving us grief’. What happened?”

“He started teasing Hanzo that... that I was firing his bow. That apparently Hanzo maybe said something at one point about nobody but him firing the thing.” You shrugged restlessly. “It was probably something stupid—some kind of childish thing said when Hanzo was 10. I mean, I said all kinds of weird stuff like that when I was young—that no one was going to touch something but me, no one was going to do something but me. Stupid, idiotic stuff that never meant anything.” You growled under your breath. “And Genji kept laughing at Hanzo and I, so we got everything together and went to eat. I think it really... really hit him hard, but he seemed... he seemed to be okay when he opened his gift.”

Zenyatta nodded slowly. “I see.”

“He liked it, though—so I guess that was a plus.”

“If I may ask—what was the gift?”

You flushed. “It was silly stuff. I got it all at this stupid card store just off base.” Zenyatta kept looking at you and despite his silence and stillness, it felt like he was pressuring you for more. “I found it once when I wanted to get a Christmas gift for Secret Santa and I forgot right up until like the hour before. It’s all kinds of random, cool stuff—like hand dyed scarves and hand made mittens and stuff. It changes because it’s all locally sourced stuff that may not be there very long. During the fall, there’s jams and jellies and pickles. During the spring there are hand made pots with organic herbs. Just all kinds of stuff that makes good gifts.”

“And what was the gift?”

“I saw an alpaca wool scarf that I thought looked handsome and it was so soft. Somebody local has some alpacas and somebody else carded it or whatever—and the end result was this amazing, soft scarf that just felt warm. It seemed silly, so I got one of those big candles that smelled like sandalwood and vanilla and then some small candies. It was all impersonal but didn’t seem like that, you know?”

“And he seemed positive?”

You nodded slowly. “He said....” Inexplicably, you felt that hoarse, scratchy feeling at the back of your throat. “He said that it... it was... complete. All five senses or something. That it was all kinds of things—light and warmth and sweet and... and stuff.”

“And it was significant to him?”

“He said that... I remember he said that it was the first gift that... wasn’t an ‘incarnation of violence’.” You shook your head. “It... it seemed to be... so sad.”

“And then?”

“He left me at my apartment with a bow. I thought he’d like try to cop a feel or sneak a kiss or something, but he didn’t. He just thanked me—which seemed a little weird because he was the one who paid for dinner and everything.”

“And then?”

“God... then it was a disaster. I took him—the team, actually. I took the team to an escape room. That was a serious disaster.”

“What happened?”

“He... had a hard time. The room reminded him of a terrifying thing in his past and he... had a hard time. We had to leave the game.” Your cheeks flamed, but Zenyatta said nothing. “But it really wasn’t a big deal. Not a problem, you know, but he seemed to feel like it was some kind of dealbreaker. He asked to be transferred the first time.”

“The first time? He has then asked again?”

“Yeah. You and Genji went off to get high and drunk and Genji came back. Genji came to me to ask if we were... ahh... intimate and we got to talking.”

“And then?”

“I... ended up talking about Hanzo. About how he didn’t.... Well... hell, a little about Hanzo. I kept asking if Genji understood all that Hanzo had gone through. I guess I fucked up, but... I thought it was important. I... dammit, I wanted Genji to know that Hanzo had a side, too. I guess, after spending time time and listening to Hanzo, I saw that there was a whole hell of a lot that... that from Hanzo’s point of view, made the whole situation... just different.”

“And then?”

“I saw them talking. It seemed private, and I left them to talk. That was the last I knew of them. I saw them talking and just left them talking.”

“And then?”

“Now I’ve got a transfer request. He’s said irreconcilable differences and stuff—all the truth but none of it, you know?”

“And you want the transfer?”

“No! I want... I want him to stick around. I want him... to kind of—. I don’t know.”

“Hmmm,” the monk chirped. “I see.”

“I wish you’d tell me, then. I don’t know what to say or do. Neither of them are talking to me.”

“Hmm... an interesting puzzle.” He paused, letting the silence of the garden soothe you, before asking, “Why does a bee leave his honey?”

“You asked me that before and I spent like hours reading up on bees to see if I could find an answer to that.” You grinned at the monk. “The only thing I could find was a bunch of references that bees are really social and don’t usually leave an established hive. They will leave in a kind of split down the middle if a swarm grows so large and has two queens so they divide down the middle like a cell. The other thing is that the bee will leave if.. the hive is... unlivable for some reason.”

“I see. And then?”

“If the hive is unlivable, they’ll abandon it and will kind of gather the survivors and go find somewhere new that is better.”

“I see. And?”

“If the hive is healthy and large, then one queen will take some of them and go off and the other will stay with the remainder.”

“And?”

“And I guess... Hanzo and Genji are like the bees.” You puffed out a breath. “They both... left behind all the yakuza stuff because it was unhealthy.”

“And then?”

“Don’t you ever just stop with the questions?” you grumbled. “All these ‘and then’ questions aren’t helping!” You would have sworn that his frozen face smirked at you. “I am getting tired of trying to figure this out.”

“I see. And why would your bees come to you?”

“I guess... Hanzo—.” Your eyes went wide. “I guess... Hanzo thought... maybe he was safe... with me.”

“Ahhh... a sweet honey indeed if one is starved for it.”

That was all he said. You were gaping at nothing, staring at the bobbing winter jasmine and not seeing anything. You shuddered, your stomach clenching as you tried to figure out what was supposed to happen next. You needed to talk to Hanzo, needed to figure this out.

You finally stared at Zenyatta. “You... you knew all this. You set this up.”

“I did?” He cocked his head with another soft series of clicks. “How did I set this up?”

“You....” Your eyes narrowed and you smirked at him. “So what does your phrase of the day program say for today?”

“Please wait. Loading.” He paused in place, stock still. “For today, it is ‘Curiosity is a stream that will lift you up when you satisfy it’.” He turned back to the bobbing flower branches. “Today’s lucky numbers are 7, 12, 19, 29 and 33.”

You sputtered at him. “Are you sure that’s a wise quote program or... a fortune cookie program?”


	12. Chapter 12

You were not sure what you wanted to do, but it did seem important that you do something. First thing was to schedule some training—some of the old fashioned, sit in an auditorium training—on PTSD. Mercy was a huge help in connecting you to the medical information and bringing in counselors, despite you simply refusing to explain why you were so insistent on the whole support staff coming out and refusing to name any names. It was a sudden and overwhelming success. Your whole team turned out—even Hanzo—and then other officers came to you to set up more sessions of your PTSD training. One of the commanders even put you in for a commendation for championing the cause.

To you relief—not to mention your unspoken gratitude—someone else finally formed a local, virtual support group. Everyone was welcome to speak about old hurts and new inspirations, to offer support, and to most of all simply allow those who were suffering to have a place where people understood what they were going through. You offered each of your team members your encouragement to attend the sessions.

Nothing happened at first. There was no big, feel good movie ending where your team all hugged and everyone smiled and then there was a happily ever after montage before the credits. In fact, Hanzo and your team seemed to have even more friction. Hanzo only grew less patient and the team grew less tolerant. You were sure that fights would start breaking out in the morning meetings if something didn’t give way.

Genji also seemed to be drawn in and began equally surprising you in that he was always around. You couldn’t go to the gym or the range or the cafeteria without him lurking somewhere close by. He was first of all stone cold sober. His eyes were on you all the time—you weren’t sure he wasn’t somehow watching your apartment and maybe even in the restroom—and he seemed to be taking an advanced degree on exactly what you did every day. He was never close enough to actually touch you, never close enough to be deemed an official threat, but it was unnerving to have his eyes watching you.

Then, the smallest thing happened.

You were going over some mundane idiotic drivel—the type that you would have fallen asleep listening to—when Jesse’s big, bold voice boomed from the hallway in an explosion of curses. Hanzo tensed, his eyes snapping to the door and his hands folding against his folded arms and dipping into the folds of his loose clothing. You were a bit worried, but then you noticed someone else with wide eyes and tight-pressed lips and their hand in a tight fist around their note papers.

You paused, took a deep breath, and lowered your voice. Told a terrible joke about a midget and got a few laughs as Jesse apparently walked away. Your voice stayed at a low tenor and you told honestly the three jokes you knew that were socially polite enough you could tell them at work as everyone relaxed. It took an extra ten minutes, but at least, you felt proud that you could handle this just a little better.

So, to wrap up, you announced the Secret Santa. The rules were clear—everyone drew a name and nobody told who got what name. You went out and got a gift under $35.00 and, when the other person wasn’t looking, you dropped the gift on their desk or at their apartment or whatever. The trick was to do it without them knowing—you had to bring snacks to the Winter Holiday party if they guessed who you were—and you had several who were masterful at stealth gifting.

You had the bowl prepared. You mixed the names around and when you hand came out, you had an anonymously folded piece of paper. Then, you passed the bowl around to the left. Everyone drew out names and you dismissed the meeting with the usual warnings of not letting anyone find out who drew what name.

And, if nobody saw that you had “pre-chosen” Hanzo’s name and hidden it in your palm as you riffled through the bowl, then that was fine too.

So, with a destination in mind, you went back to that store. Five senses—how to get all 5 without an all out repeat? (Not to mention, feeding a team like yours was an expensive proposition.) The candle was 3–sight, smell, touch. He liked that, but you weren’t sure.... Maybe some local wine? That was taste, smell. There was a homemade quilt in shades of gold and red—but that was far, far above the $35 limit. There was some potpourri but “Strawberry Fields” and “Rainbow Flowers” did not seem to be properly.... Just no. Who needed a collection of scarves? You wandered around the store a second time, trying to see if there was something you missed and finding nothing that seemed just right.

Next door was a second-hand shop and you looked through that as well. A million used video discs and a thousand bits and pieces of things. A selection of second-hand tools. A random collection of jewelry. Nothing seemed just right.

You searched on the web, too. Quilts. Shawls. Homemade pickles. Stained glass nightlight. Paintings. Everything that was imported was right out. Again, nothing seemed right.

You happened to run across an ad for some Japanese recipes when you thought you finally figured it out. You printed out a few recipes that seemed easy enough. Of course, you were uncertain about some of the ingredients, but hey—this was an adventure, right? You did wander through to get another candle, a nice card and a pretty painting of what appeared to be a smokey pine forest, just in case, but other than that, you went grocery shopping.

Then you went to visit the Omnic ninja.

Genji was meditating with Zenyatta in an atrium overlooking a garden when you found him. Zenyatta nodded at you and waved in the air, allowing you to come closer. Genji nodded, his face exposed to the sun from the windows as he stared out through the windows.

“My student and I were finishing for today,” Zenyatta explained.

“Really? And what is the quote for today?”

Zenyatta chirped, “If a snail has his house with him, why does he need to leave?”

“And the lucky numbers?”

Genji guffawed, his somber and solemn posture dissolving in laughter. “The lucky numbers today were 2, 8, 15, 43, and 55. Still no Powerball.” His voice turned to a high pitched wheedling. “Are you sure you don’t know the number, master? I could use some money for some upgrades.”

Zenyatta shrugged, “You have working legs, hands, arms. You have constant armor against attack. You are like the snail with your home on your back. Why do you need to leave?”

“There are some upgrades I don’t have, master.”

“I’m sure that works as well, if you try it.”

Genji snorted, “If I could only find out how to undo that particular plate.” He stretched in a feline way. “Maybe I should ask Mercy?”

To you utter surprise, Zenyatta nodded, “A wise man knows the question and who to ask it to.”

You smirked at Genji’s wide smile. “So, the drug and vice training is over, Genji?”

“Oh, hell yeah.” He gave another feline stretch. “It was a real trial. I mean, I guess.... I guess I learned my lesson. I guess maybe it was bad when I was a whole man—when I was high or drunk or... hell, both. Maybe it was bad then, but after experiencing this... this body—it is a hundred times worse.”

“Worse?” you asked with a smile.

“I am a finely tuned machine,” he replied with another sensual roll of cybernetics and muscle. “I am a very finely crafted, finely tuned agent with exponentially better reflexes, strength, endurance and everything to make me—.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Whatever,” you snorted. “So you are a finely tuned machine an all.”

“So, if anything interferes with me, then obviously it will affect me far more than before.” He gave you a smirk. “Obviously, I must maintain my body as a temple.”

You paused for a moment and gave him a smirk in return. “You were hung over, weren’t you?”

Suddenly, he smiled and gave you a nod. “Hell yeah. Some of the sims will keep messing with me for a month or more and I haven’t had such a hangover and withdrawal since I died.”

Zenyatta nodded, “It will pass.”

“Ugh... I hope so, master.”

This seemed as good a time as any. “So, if I can interject—.”

Genji interrupted, “Why are you here?”

“I need you to help me,” you whispered.

“Help you?!”

Zenyatta nodded, “If she had not spoken up, I would not have considered that you required the training. I had thought that you had enough of such things when you were a mortal man, but I was wrong.” If he hadn’t been Omnic, and thus had no sarcastic inflection programmed in him, you would have sworn he was smug as he added, “And as such, I believe that we do owe—.”

Genji interrupted with a loud laugh. “Fuck... you really have me there.” He gave you a smile. “So, what is that we’re doing?”

You brought out the card. It was an elegant, plain envelope with your card and Hanzo’s name on it in your best handwriting. Genji took the card and made a show of flipping and spinning it in his hands. He traced the name and looked up at you with a secretive smile.

“Oh, now I am really interested. What do you want me to do—exactly?”

It was peculiarly warming to have Genji give you that smile, that smug reassurance that he was on your side.


	13. Chapter 13

You simply smirked as people began figuring out who their Secret Santas were at the very next meeting. You were keeping track, too, counting on deviled eggs and sausage balls and all kinds of goodies as people had to admit that they were Secret Santa.

Honestly, you had no idea when Genji set out to do his little part. You just sort of assumed that he had done it and said nothing else. He gave no indication and for all you knew he still had your card secreted somewhere in his things. You managed to not ask about it either—trying not to spill the beans with the ninja.

The Winter Holiday party came and went as well. Most people knew their Secret Santas by that point, so you were blessed with sausage balls, chili cheese dip, spinach dip, punch, fruit and vegetable platters and more. A few people brought food even without being found out, just to join the fun.

Hanzo brought out a tray of sushi with a wry smirk on his face.

You were eating your third plate of goodies when you saw Genji walk past the door. He shot you a victory sign that was barely seen before it was gone. Happily convinced that you had a successful gift giving, you turned back and tried some of the colorful sushi.

At eight o’clock, on Christmas Eve, your doorbell rang.

You smoothed your clothes and twitched the napkin on your elegantly set table with its small candles and the tiny plates. Going to the door, you smirked at the small pile of wrapped gifts and opened it.

Hanzo stood on your doorstep. You had honestly never seen him in a full suit—definitely not a highly tailored, bespoke blue suit with a radiant white shirt and a flawless navy silk tie with a sparkling tie tack in the precise middle. His slick black hair flowed down between his shoulders and reflected the military shine of his lace up brogans. He held a small box wrapped in satiny red paper and tied with a gold ribbon and a bottle of wine.

You smiled at him. “Please... come in.”

He gave you a short smile and bowed low. “I am here.”

“Please, come in. Dinner is waiting.”

He sucked in a breath and his eyes darted around your apartment. You didn’t have a lavish spread, but you had gotten your tree up and white lights blinking up on it. You had two red pillows on your couch and a pleasant Santa figurine out. Your dining room table had two white candles sitting among a few sprigs of spruce and some cinnamon sticks, along with your nice china and silverware.

He handed you the gift and tiptoed in, giving you the red box as he kept staring. “I am... in awe.” Carefully, he set the wine on the table. “This is beautiful.”

You flushed and set the package under the tree with the small ones for him. “I hope that you like it.”

Dinner was a pleasant mix of traditional fare. You had a turkey breast and rolls and stuffing and cranberry sauce next to bowls of ramen in a broth you had simmered for hours and taiyaki pastries and roasted sweet potatoes. The hardest part had been the broth—hours of simmering beef bones with onions, garlic, bok choy, bean sprouts and carrots. Then, you had sliced up pieces of beef and vegetables. You had even managed to find some nori chips and some pretty spirals of white and pink along with roasted sesame seeds to put on top next to the eggs you had soft boiled in black tea.

“What would you like first? I have everything out in the kitchen, but my dining room table is full up, you know?”

He picked up his plate and bowl and took careful steps to your kitchen. “It all looks delicious. What do you think... I should start with?”

“I don’t know. I am a fan of the stuffing, but after smelling the broth simmering for hours, I can’t wait to try the ramen.”

“Where did you find the narutomaki?”

You flushed with a smile. “Genji helped me find the taiyaki and with a lot of help from a translator app I was told I couldn’t serve ramen without it and the seaweed.” He snorted with a smile. “Apparently, this is a thing and the gentleman I was talking to sent his son out with me. I ended up being taken out to some shops I never knew existed to get ingredients that I didn’t know I needed.” You looked at the beautiful flowery white shapes with their pink swirls in the middle. “And they are actually really pretty.”

He nodded as he put two of the crisp dark green squares of nori in his bowl and then a few slices of the narutomaki. “It was... thoughtful. I am very flattered that you went to so much trouble.”

You gave him a smile. “Well, this is your Secret Santa—sort of.”

He nodded as he sat down with his plate and bowl. “It is still thoughtful. I have not had homemade ramen in ages.”

“Just don’t be mad if it isn’t exactly like home. I was struggling at times with the broth.”

He took a cautious sip and then smiled with a nod. “It is delicious. I am flattered you went to so much trouble, but how did you get your invitation into my apartment?”

You took a bite of turkey with a smug smile. “I don’t suppose you’ll let me say it is my own feminine secret, would you?” He snorted and shook his head. “Fine—Genji helped me out.”

“Genji?!”

“I would guess that he did it successfully.”

Hanzo’s cheeks flushed and he looked away for a stern and angry moment. “He must have broken in. I found it on my bathroom counter.”

“Oh...” You flushed as well. “I... apologize. I thought it would be a bit of fun. I didn’t think he would break in to do it.”

He let out a laugh, shaking his head slightly. “I suppose you could not have known he would do that. He is, unfortunately, prone to taking the path of least resistance, no matter what that is. It is a good thing in some ways—he will find a way to get something done—but the... ethics of how something should be done sometimes get ignored.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Once, he had to do very well on a test in school, so he went out and found some rather embarrassing information on the teacher and threatened to reveal it if the teacher did not give everyone a stellar grade.” He shrugged. “It would have been simpler to have studied hard during the semester. Or even simply study hard for the test.”

“What happened?”

“Apparently, whatever he had found was extremely damning. The teacher gave everyone ridiculously high grades and claimed that it was on a curve and with extra credit. Genji did pass with high enough grade that... that my father gave him a motorcycle.”

You frowned, debating what to say. “Was it... black and blue?”

He froze, his spoon halfway up to his mouth. “How... did you...?”

“He... mentioned it once.”

Hanzo gave you an uncertain nod. “I see.” Staring down at the bowl in front of him, he asked hoarsely, “Are you... both—?”

“We are not seeing each other, if that’s what you’re asking.” You grunted sourly as you murmured, “You know—you both need to get out of each other’s social lives.”

“Nani?”

“He started demanding to know if we were intimate. Really—you both need a life and to get out of each other’s.”

He flushed a dark red and his hands shook with a soft chiming of silverware against the bowl. “Would... it be... terrible to... be with me?”

“No—of course not!” you protested. “But he doesn’t need to... to worry, I guess? It’s... none of his business what we do in private.”

You took a long sip of the wine, enjoying the superb sweetness. “So, what would this wine be? It’s delicious.”

“It is my favorite plum wine.” He smiled at you. “I suppose that it is unusual, but I like the balance of flavors—especially with salty and umami flavors in traditional Japanese fare.”

Dinner finished with chocolate and vanilla custard filled pastries. He smirked at the smiling fish shape and nodded as you offered him milk or water or wine. “This is so much more than I... ever expected.”

“I’m glad that you like it,” you whispered. “And after dessert, we open our gifts.”

That made him glance up at you with a look of alarm. “You... perhaps will not like my gift.”

“I’m sure I will.” You gave him a smooth smile. “It’s always a terrific part of Christmas.” You nibbled the last bit of pastry. “And don’t worry about the dishes. I’ll get them later.”

He gamely followed you to the living room area and took a hesitant perch on the very edge of your couch. “I am overwhelmed as it is—and now you say there are gifts.” His hands clenched and released restlessly. “Do... do these gifts also have... conditions? Will... I also have to give something up?”

“N-n-no... of course not.”

He shot to his feet to stand right next to you. “I... will accept that... dinner was enough. It is enough. I do not... need more.” His voice dropped to a low whisper, as if he was talking to himself. “Yet, I... want more.”

You could see the first twinkles of his eyes and shook your head, wrapping your arms around his waist. “No. This is... this is just us. Just for us to celebrate. There aren’t any strings attached....”

He was stiff, stern and uncompromising, for moments before he seemed to recognize that he should also wrap his arms around you. Then, he sagged and pressed full length against you. “I cannot bear it.”

“What?”

“I... cannot bear... being alone.” His eyes were focused on the ceiling for a shaky moment before their gaze landed on your face. “Tell me now—if this... is wrong. I cannot stop it... anymore.”

“Stop what?” you whispered breathlessly.

He was silent and his hands moved around your back to press you up against him. The feeling of warmth, of strength, of shivering anticipation, was overwhelmed by the feeling of that ridge in his pants.

“This,” he hissed. “This is what... I cannot stop.” You gasped in shock at the boiling hot feel against you. “I cannot stop this. I cannot stop wanting. I cannot stop... believing that... some day, it will be... more than my own dream.”

He didn’t let you do more than gasp in a sip of air before hissing again, “Every night, I think.... I think that there will be an end. That your... softness, your tenderness, will... end and I will be... alone again.” He threw his head back and his breath hissed through his clenched teeth. “And now... I know what... it is to... have such softness and tenderness... and light... and I... do not want to be... alone and in... the cold dark.”

He shuddered and it rippled down from his mighty shoulders down his arm and back to his hands and toes. You heard the soft shush as his shoes twisted on your carpet as he dropped down slightly to fit closer to you. There was another of those whooshing sobs that shook you both and seemed to be shaking him to the core and filling his eyes with unshed tears and cracking his voice.

“Why did you show me better?” he hissed with a watery warble in the back of his throat. “Why did you show me that the world has light? Has warmth? Has softness?” He shook his head, his hair flying wildly. “Why did you not leave me as you found me? Why did you bring have to bring this old dragon out into the light?”

You wrapped your arms tighter around him. He accepted it, leaned forward and wanted it, but there was that flaming core of steel and bone in the center. The desire burned through him far brighter than the lights on the tree, brighter than the candles. You could practically taste his desire, the drive and craving that seemed to be boiling him alive.

He broke away, all but leaping back as you gaped at him. “You have been... cruel to let me see the light, feel the warmth. Why have you done this to me? To give me a taste of what I cannot have.”

“But... why?!” you demanded.

He gave you a glare both molten and furious. “I was... going to be... content.” He sighed and shook his head. “I was going to be content, to serve Overwatch and to protect Genji.” His hands rubbed at his cheeks. “I was going to live out my life and I could go on wanting nothing more.” He shrugged stiffly. “I wanted nothing more until... I was... there.

“And on the transport, you were there. You were supportive, a leader of your team. You... helped me. Despite everything, every whisper and every hissing gossip, you... helped me. As if I was a—.”

“As if you were what? A regular man? A man who needed help?”

“Help would have... been enough. Yet, you did more. You always did more.” He seemed agitated. “Even when... I was at my lowest—even when I was uncontrollably violent—you... always did more.”

Again he came up right against you, dragging his hands up to grip your shoulders. “I am... a strong man. I am well used to the dark and cold places of this world.” His big hands rubbed your shoulders in a soothing, gentle way. “They hold no surprises, no fears for me. I needed nothing more than to protect my brother. Until you showed me... that there was more.”

“You... aren’t some kind of monster, Hanzo-san,” you whispered. “You deserve a life like anyone else.”

He pressed against you, making that tight ridge press even harder against your soft body. “Like anyone else who killed their kin. Like anyone else who is a murderer, a criminal. Are they the ones who deserve a life?” He rubbed ever so slightly back and forth in a gentle, delicious friction that was nothing like what was starting to gnaw at you. “‘It is cold and I am old, and alone by the gallows tree.’” He gave you a smile. “An old poem that seems to speak to me because it is cold, and I am old and alone with the disaster of my life until you came to me.”

There was a tight, hard moment and he held you as if his life depended on it. “I tell myself that there is a moment, a place, a line I will not cross. That I can come up to it and I am safely... contained. Then, you are safe. The team is safe.” He shook his head with a smug smile that filled his face with a look of ironic pleasure. “And you want more. You want more of something I am... afraid to even admit.”

“I am not afraid,” you whispered. “Is it so wrong... to want more?”

He bent, his lips just barely grazing yours. “More? More of this?” He grimaced and grazed your forehead with the most gentle, chaste way. “Because... this is... more. This is the more that I want. This is the more that I crave every moment.”

“More,” you whispered against his lips.

“You are treading on dangerous ground,” he warned in a low growl.

“Dangerous?”

His lips went to graze your cheek, your neck. “You are dancing on the thin ice around me. If it breaks...?”

“If it breaks? What happens then?”

“Then,” he whispered, “the dragon will be loosed on this world. A terrible and ferocious thing that has known only darkness, cold, and... and pain.” He hissed as your fingers went through his hair. “When the dragon breaks loose, I do not know if there is any way to... bring him back.”

Your fingers traced down his tie and felt his muscles flinch and jump as you did. How hypnotic it was, to have him in the palm of your hand and feel him shudder. He gasped as you fingered the little pin and in a moment, he released you to tear at the pin and toss it aside to bounce on the carpet. Next came the tie, flying off him with a silken hiss.

His eyes glowed like coal embers as he stared down at you. “I told you to tread lightly. What will you do now that you have broken the ice and released the dragon?” He pounced on you next, putting both hands in your hair and tilting your head up. “Will you take your dragon? Will you claim even a dark dragon such as I?”

He pounced then, his lips pressing against your and pushing them apart. He licked and teased, tasting your mouth and moaning softly with the taste. He tasted of cream and pastry, of plum wine and salty ramen. He nodded against you, pushing forward until he had you pressed tightly against his body again.

“You make me want more,” he hissed as he took a breath. One hand went to your hip, drawing your leg up as far as your clothes would let you. “More and more and more until there is no more left.”

Hunger swept through you, making you weave as if you had been hit. He knew it, shifted to support your weight effortlessly and then to draw you further up against him in a heated lick of body against body. Frustrated with the material confining you, he tugged at it restlessly in fiercer jerks. A few stitches snapped and you let out a squeal.

He barely seemed to hear it, though and he kept jerking at your clothing. You weren’t convinced that he cared until he said, “A chain of chastity.... Keeping me from you. I am not defeated so easily.” He licked at your neck. “Will you let me in or do I make my own way?”

You let out a sound of protest and shook your head, only to have him laugh in that dark way against your hair. “I warned you what would happen if you released the dragon.”

Instead, you nipped his lower lip and your hands went to your buttons and zippers. The archer—a dangerous playboy version of himself that seemed fully at home in a boardroom or in a nightclub or a dark alley—nodded with a low purr of agreement. He nodded at you, encouraging you with a smug grin as he watched. There seemed to be a heady, throbbing silence that seemed to be music all its own as you dropped your clothes to the floor.

His let the blue jacket fall to the floor. In a moment of brilliant impatience, he plucked at three buttons and giving you a tantalizing glimpse of a dark blue dragon’s tail along his collarbone before he ripped the cuffs and the buttons down the front until they flew off in all directions. His hands ripped the white fabric with a barrel throated growl until he stood there in only the blue pants.

You had never really had a chance to... appreciate how well built the man was. His skin gleamed in the light of the candles and the lights of the tree. The elaborate tattoo swirled around his muscular arm in a way that seemed hypnotic. You drew closer to look at it, to trace the swirl of dorsal scales from his collarbone to his wrist.

He took a long, deep breath, making the heavy muscles of his chest press up against your palms. He was so cocky, so smug as your hands traced every smooth curve of exposed skin. You murmured softly, “You are beautiful.”

“Beautiful?” He smirked down at you. “You are the one who is beautiful.” His hands cupped your breasts. “You are the vision of beauty, the one who has been in my dreams.”

To your surprise, you found yourself in his arms and pulled up to his waist. Immediately, your arms went to his neck and your legs wrapped around him. He grinned down at you and lapped at your lips. “The ice is broken. The dragon is released.” His whisper ghosted along your neck. “There is no going back.”

One arm wrapped around your hips and the other reached down around your legs to begin fumbling with his pants. There was a shift in his hips, his muscles and you heard the pants hiss and then hit the floor with a splat and a jingle that sounded like keys.

“No more,” he hissed. “No more dark. No more cold. No more.”

You didn’t have another moment’s hesitation to take in a breath before he pushed you down and you felt the first brush right there where your hunger started. He looked in your eyes, searching for something you were not able to say and even as your throat dried, you realized that no answer was all that he needed.

He pushed you down and let gravity set the pace until you felt the thud of hip to hip. His eyes screwed shut as he turned away slightly. His nostrils flared wildly as if he was a wild animal seeking his mate’s heat. The world around you seemed to fade as he caught your gaze and let out an animal sound.

“You are mine now,” he crowed in triumph.

Then there was nothing as he thrust wildly. If he had been near a wall, he could have gone on forever, but as it was, he lost traction and slipped out with a slick sound. But rather than stopping in some fumbling embarrassment, he simply dropped to the floor, laying you down on the carpet before crouching between your legs. His eyes happened to look on the table at the slender glasses with their puddles of plum wine.

With a reckless swipe, he grabbed the closest and spilled it all over your breasts. Then he followed, his tongue lapping up the wine over every inch of your skin and then returning to taste your nipples. He even traced over the slight drips down your sides and the messy splatters across your belly. He trailed every bit of the wine and let out a whining moan when he realized that there simply wasn’t any more.

He was eyeing the second cup of wine when you sat up. Instead, you pushed on his shoulders, forcing him to the floor. The edge of couch was six inches too close and he had to crook his head. His eyes went wide as you snatched the second glass of wine from the table. His pulled back arms to prop himself on his elbows, watching as you smirked over the rim.

You gave him a moment of reflection, of anticipation before you tipped the glass over that straining cock. The drop of yellow-white liquid seemed to fall in slow motion before it splatted against the ruddy skin. Hanzo threw back his head with a shrieking hiss and bucked upwards as your head lowered. 

He cursed vehemently again as you spilled all of the wine over his skin. You would be forgiven for thinking you were pouring acid over him instead of sweet and tart wine. Then, you did suckle his skin, lap at his belly, take that raging and ruddy cock in your mouth and Hanzo began swearing loudly. When you suckled hard, pulling against him he went suddenly and icily quiet, biting his lips like a desperate child.

You grabbed his hips and tugged. He got the message, scooting just close enough that his head wasn’t slamming into the couch. For all that he seemed to have excellent control, dexterous hands, he seemed to be all thumbs as he tried to clasp a hand, an arm and would touch, only to lose focus and reach for something else.

For a breathless moment, you were sure that he wanted to roll and that such a macho man would want to be on top. Instead, he simple grabbed hold and tugged you up until you were straddling his waist. Your greedy hands trailed over his thick muscles, scraping lightly along the elaborate tattoo on his shoulder and a second dragon tattoo you hadn’t seen from his waist to just above his knee on the other side.

He was panting and shivering as you kept it up. He let out a kitten mewl when you brushed his nipples, and another when you nibbled down the side of his neck. With a shifting and a shove, you straddled him and dropped down in a thrust that shook the floor.

You started with unsteady, slow moves to get used to the pulsing feeling within. It was a different feeling than anything you had experienced before—a pulsing and shaking and burning unlike anything you had ever imagined. He held on to your knees, scrambling to get purchase with his feet shuffling in your short, standard issue carpet as he tried to find a way that he could get any small leverage.

But when you let out a startled cry, he stopped with a soft sound.

Clearly being told to get on with it, you smiled down at him. Your fingers trailed in the stiff hairs of his beard, tickling the little stubble that littered down his neck and over his cheeks. He bucked up slowly, trying to get a rhythm that matched yours. And when you went just a little faster, he followed with a shaky, sweaty nod of his head.

Just a little faster, a little harder. You found your balance, you rhythm and the pace that felt best. His fingers gripped your knees and traced along your legs in random curls and patterns that grew more frantic as you kept rocking on his dick.

You bit down on the skin just where the fluffy dragon tail waved and he let out another string of rapid Japanese. He bucked up so hard you paused to see that his eyes were wide open to stare at the ceiling and he was taking in deep, shaky breaths. You stopped and stroked his cheeks.

“Come back to me, baby,” you crooned.

His eyes darted to you. “You do not understand,” he warbled.

“Understand what, baby?”

He closed his eyes slowly and took a deep breath that swelled his belly. Immediately, his fingers went back to their frantic little patterns on your skin, despite the fact that he seemed to be trying to calm down.

“Understand what?” you purred, licking his neck.

Suddenly, his eyes snapped open and you jerked with a shuddering buck. His eyes were glowing a brilliant, hectic blue that shot sparks off his long lashes. The electric energy went down his straining neck to his tattoo on his arm, making it light up in writhing lines before trailing down his torso to the second, hidden tattoo. The lines rose up and hovered just above his skin in the shapes of two blue dragons that began to twist in the air between you.

“More!” he hissed with a snap of his hips. You grunted at the painful blossoming of heat in your core. “I need more.”

“There.... The dragons—!”

He didn’t answer, instead he kept bucking, his head thrown back and digging into your carpet and his hair spread out in inky tendrils around his face. You nodded absently and bent to suckle his nipples and kept going.

You sighed against his pecs, “Tell me what you need, baby.”

“Faster!”

You struggled to find a way to go faster. He thrashed and his hands began digging into your carpet. A wicked idea formed as you tried to figure out how to give him that extra push. Your fingers dug into his skin—whatever you could reach—and you hissed into his ear, “Baby, you are so good. So hot—do you need more?” He nodded a whine. “You got all that hot fire in your cock. I bet it’s building up right there, making every part of it throb.”

He was nodding wildly, his hands shaking between digging furrows in your carpet and fumbling with your breasts and then down to your legs. His breath rumbled in and out frantically and his hips ratcheted demonically. Finally, he managed to get a hand down to stroke your clit while the other tweaked your nipples.

“Does it hurt, baby?” you whispered. “Does all that make your cock hurt? Make your body burn?”

You felt that hot cock jerk. You would have sworn you felt a bit spurt up as you pushed him with your words as much as your body stoked him higher and higher. It made it even better for you to spill that dirty, hot language directly in the archer’s red ears.

“I’m gonna make you scream,” you promised wickedly. “I’m gonna make you cum so hard that you’ll feel it in your bones. You’re gonna be shaking because all that hot, boiling cum is gonna shoot out and then I’m gonna lick you all over and—,” He bucked hard in an almost painful thrust and went recklessly out of his own control. “—and your balls are going to be drained dry, baby.”

That was the push he needed. His cock jerked wildly inside you as if it had a life of its own. His hands grabbed your hips to try to force you into his desperate rhythm, only to have you escape and go even faster. He hissed a quiet curse and his words began rippling out, “Fuck. I must cum. I must. I must—need to. I need to. I cannot do this anymore.”

“What do you need, baby?”

“Please cum. Please, ojo, please cum. Please. Please. Please. Please.”

You felt that ripple through your body. He begged you to cum, words blasting out of his mouth. You felt the backwash—the fire and dirty words coming back to pour threefold the passion and desire into you. Finally, you felt that precipice under your knees and hands, under your lips.

When you came, when your pleasure shot through you so hard you saw stars and you stiffened above him with a cry, he echoed you with a growling shout of his own. His hands clawed up your thighs and then clamped down on your hips to pull you down as hard as he could.

You felt limp and weightless, as if you were floating, as you fell forward. Your hands slid across the sweat on his shoulders to thud into the carpet on either side of him. The fine tremors shaking his body echoed up to the deepest part of you.

He puffed for breath as you laid your head down on his chest. The thundering of his heart beat against your ear as his hands came shakily up to stroke your hair. “There, there.”

“Hmm... that feels good.”

He gave you a breathless chuckle. “Rest, ojo.”

You nodded sleepily. For some reason, you were quite comfortable like this. Then you laughed, “We are a mess you know.”

He nodded beneath you. “I wonder why that does not seem to matter right now.” You nodded against him again. “We need to bathe. To rest.”

There were minutes that you laid there limply. Finally, you rolled slightly and pulled away to go to the bathroom. Everything ached in ways that were delightful and new and old as time. You snatched up a washcloth to wipe your skin and found that there were small lines of glowing blue settling around your wrist and up your arm.

“Hanzo!” you gasped. You scrubbed hard at the lines that were slowly unwinding and uncurling. “Hanzo! What the hell—?”

You heard a grunt and then heavy footsteps come up behind you. He nodded and took the cloth from you. Running cold water in the sink, he dunked the cloth in the stream and began drawing its cool relief over your skin. You let out a pleased sigh as he dunked the cloth again and began letting it trail lower over your skin.

“That feels amazing,” you whispered as you leaned against him. “But you’re going to tell me what is going on.”

He let out a snort as the cloth trailed over the little lines. “Tell me... what do you think it is?”

It was not the time or place that you felt up for riddles or koans or puzzles. Still, something told you it was far more important than a simple riddle. And that cool cloth was feeling amazing. Still, he was patient, not moving away or prompting you when you said nothing.

He paused long enough to wipe the cloth against himself and then he rang out the cloth and set it aside. Then, without seeming to strain or notice, he picked you up and took you through your apartment to lay you on your bed. He tugged up your sheet and tucked you in.

“Hanzo? What are you doing? What are those things?” you yawned.

He gave you a humming sound. “Do you really want an answer? Or do you want me to clean up the mess?”

You tugged at the sheets and grabbed the archer. “Hold on, pal. There is a whole bunch of questions and all of the dishes can wait.”

“Can they?” he smirked.

“Yes—they can.” It would have been a lot more effective if you hadn’t yawned again. “So... talk.”

He paused, staring down at you. “There is no need to do more.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Already, it is more than I... ever expected.” His hand brushed your hair back again. “I am... more than blessed already.”

You simply patted the bed. “Come on.”

He smiled sadly. “You are not going to rest until you have solved the mystery, are you?” He chuckled at the pouting shake of your head. “Genji... was like that. He had questions and questions and he would not rest until he had answered them all.”

“Well... that’s not bad,” you whispered.

“Very well, my impatient blossom,” he nodded. “If you can stand a bit more of an adventure, then I will show you...?”

You gave him a smile as he scooped you up, sheets and all. You were surprised that he had dimmed the lights and now the most brilliant light was the Christmas tree. So, in the warm lights on the tree, he settled you in his lap on the couch.

“And the dragons in the old days,” he murmured. “They were free to roam, to fly over all of the countryside. Things were different and humans knew how to make them welcome. When Oda Nobunga tried to unite all of Japan, he gathered as many clans as he could so that he could present all of his generals and vassals to the largest clutch of dragons deep in the mountains of Iga. With the joining of men and dragons, he would be unstoppable, revered in history as the man of the tradition who united them both and all of Japan would bow to him.

“Of course, the people of Iga protested. They fought against Oda Nobunga’s armies, hid the dragons that they could. It is said that ninjutsu itself was started as a man tried to hide the his family’s dragons. Then, when Nobunga’s armies arrived, he found only empty caves with shattered eggshells.” He grimaced. “Then, the ninja overwhelmed his forces.”

You nodded blindly against his chest. “Yay. Good guys won.”

He snickered at that. “Indeed. I would not be here if they had not been ultimately victorious.”

He shifted you slightly and brought out your arm so that you could see the lines by the light of the Christmas tree. The lines were spreading in fine, thin trails and it seemed, for the moment, to be random patterns along your arm. When he brought his heavily tattooed arm next to yours, both of them glowed and you gasped to feel them spread over your skin ever so slightly.

The lines grew thicker still—the width of a felt tip pen line—and then they seemed to raise up a little farther to hover over your arms. His fingers joined yours as you stared at the lines. Slowly, the lines branched off and joined, curling around each other like vines climbing up a post. A tiny spark started from a line that pulsed at his wrist and traveled down the line to where it curled around one of the ones that wrapped around your arm. As you watched, it kept traveling through the lines until it pulsed just above your skin. At last, it sank in.

A new thought popped randomly in your head—a thought of some ancient place that smelled of tea and incense as you stared at the exotic cup and tools on a low table on thick woven mats. You were there in that moment—the taste of the tea, the feel of the sultry summer air that had never known more than a paper fan moving it, the uneven feel of the mats beneath your folded legs. You knew you were an elderly man in your formal kimono, enjoying the last of the summer sunset. You knew the feel of your sagging of your muscles. You knew the feel of your leathery skin—for all that you were wealthy, you still walked often in the sun—and the itchy feeling of your balding head and how your thinning hair was pulled back and up. You knew the smell of the green garden, the wisteria and the sakura and the delicate ferns outside. There were women just outside—a maiko and her elder sister who was a full geisha—and the poor maiko was being scolded for dropping her fan during her dance. You knew you were going to give them both their full fees—they were not in Gion or Tokyo or a large city where they had many clients—and they needed the money. You knew you were not an evil man, simply... a successful business man who could afford some generosity.

Then, just as suddenly, it was gone and you were back in your apartment.

“What was that?!” you gasped.

“My... my father,” he whispered. “My dragons. I sent them to spy on him and to see what he did when he dressed up and went to town without my mother.”

“I hallucinated your... father?”

He nodded slowly. “Just watch.”

The lines were unfurling in a thicker way. They were in a pattern now, a definitive design. At last, they rose up and you could see that they were almost like a wire form, a sculpture of ethereal dragons that curled around each of your arms.

“You... are my choice.” His voice took a husky quality. “You are the one to show me... beauty, softness, tenderness. You are the one to show me light, warmth.” He released the light grip on your hand and rolled his arm to show you that the dragon around his arm simply hopped slightly and then settled down like a well satisfied and smug cat. “I have chosen to share my gift with you.”

“You decided we were a thing—together—without me?”

“No.... I decided to share my gift with you. I am... pledged to you. I will follow you until the end of my days.” You pondered his words. “You have showed me that there is still goodness, still things worth fighting for. That there are those of honor and dignity.”

He shifted slightly. “I had thought these things lost to the world. I thought all was darkness and everything good was lost. And when you showed me... more, I was helpless against it.” He pressed a kiss into your hair. “You have even... somehow restored my brother to me when I thought we would never again be united. And for that—I am in your eternally in your debt.”

You sucked in a startled breath. “It’s... nothing. I mean... you would have gotten it figured out.”

He shook his head and to your surprise, the two dragon forms looked at you, each other and then shook their heads as well. “It would not have happened without you. No one else... cared.” His fingers lightly touched one of the glowing heads. “And so... to give you back, I share my most precious gift.”

“A... dragon.”

“Once given, the dragon will... protect you, guard you. It will stay with you for all of your days, no matter what you choose to do and where you life takes you.” There was a long, pregnant pause. “As will I.”

“B-b-but I don’t know anything about dragons?”

“They are friendly. They like games and they like to... to play. They like shiny things, whether it is a well polished tabletop, a mirror, a shiny rock or a valuable treasure. You might find a pile of shiny things in a corner—jewelry, rocks, marbles, little things.” He sighed and stroked your arm. “They like wide open spaces. They like trips to aquariums or planetariums. They are shy sometimes and will hide under the couch, in a cabinet, on the top shelf of closets. They like to spy, to play tricks.” He took a deep breath. “They like sweets but also pumpkin and nori chips. They are loyal to the very end. They will defend you. They will show you all who have connections to the unseen world.”

“And what about you? You’ve had these dragons for a long time, haven’t you?”

“For many years. When I was alone, after Genji had died, then I had them. They would bring me coins, shiny buttons. Sometimes they would bring me cans of food.” He let out a snort. “Of course, I also got a large number of pens, rocks, a goldfish, and a handful of buttons that looked like they had been dug out of rubbish bins.”

You giggled and the dragon floating above your arm gave you an approving nod. You felt, more than heard a purr of approval. With hesitant fingers, you stroked the head and got more static’s feeling of purring. It pointed and you saw a large, almost white spark starting at Hanzo’s wrist and stumbling through the network or lines. You were surprised that it was moving at all—it seemed far too large for the network and you almost expected it to get stuck and feel pain from the strain on your fine lines. 

Then your vision dimmed again. You saw an empty alley—a dirty, narrow place between tall buildings that were crowded with neon signs that you could only understand in the foggy way you could understand things in dreams. There was a dumpster on one side and you knew you could open the top to lean it against the building and have shelter from the storm. It was cold and the worn thin sleeping bag you had with you was not going to be warm enough. You were hungry—your last meal of a thin broth over noodles had been days ago. A man further down the alley poked his head out and you remembered he came out to smoke regularly. If only you had a few cigarettes, he’d let you come into the back of his restaurant for a few warm minutes while he fished out some coins, but you had traded your last ones for a woman to fix your ratty jacket. But he wasn’t inclined to report you to the police as long as you didn’t start any trouble, so you set up your makeshift shelter under the open top of the dumpster. You were immune to the rank stench of the alley and its many forms of trash by necessity, and at least this way you were mostly out of the wind and the coming rain.

The man stared at you for a misty moment and he waved, so you came closer. He spoke to you, gave you some directions for some kind of big thing. He kept telling you it was lots of money. Lots of money—maybe enough for a few days in some hostel or ryokan until the spate of storms passed. You ducked down alleys and back paths and narrow spaces between buildings and you froze every time a police car or a black sedan passed by, sure that they were hunting for you and the large price on your head. There was a slippery place—a thick pothole filled with slushy runoff and rain—and you had to go onto the main road for half a block before ducking back into the shadows.

The building you went to was a tall place with boarded up windows and three floors of apartments above what used to be a gym or something. You went around back, knocked on the door, and followed the slick and sleazy guy who answered to a large fenced in area. Two men—a Japanese man you vaguely knew from some kind of sketchy history and a Korean man you had not seen before—were pummeling each other. This was why there was big money—there were men and women in party clothes shouting from the stands and placing bets. You took out a stretchy black balaclava—you had stolen it from a laundromat—and hid your features in case Shimada agents were in the audience. Your jacket, while ratty and dirty, would hide your tattoo as well as offer slight protection against the blows. Then, you took your place in line and waited for your turn to be in the blood and sweat soaked cage. You managed through two fights, but after days of having little to eat and frozen in the weather, you had no stamina to stagger through a third. Instead, you took the collection of bills you were given and ducked out of the building with a broken nose and bruises all over your arms and legs. You had enough for a bowl of hot ramen with narutomaki and chicken and vegetables out of a back alley restaurant and then two days in the ryokan where you could rest and heal.

One of the dragons appeared and it had something clenched in its paw. Ever so slowly, it showed you its little collection: two buttons, a token for a vending machine, three pachinko balls, a wrinkled and ripped hundred yen note, and a flopping and cold goldfish from someone’s garden pond or a storefront aquarium. It patted you, reassured you that the fish was good for you. It told you that you would heal soon, that you still had them—the two dragons—and they would help you. They would be there. They would help you. They would make you happy and there would be more when you found....

The vision faded.

Your eyes were filled with tears. It was painful to think about, to know how cold it was. It was painful because only a moment before, your toes had been just about frozen and your fingers were stiff from the cold. You had a faint backache from sleeping in the back alleys, a soreness in your nose and it seemed to feel swollen.

“What did you need to find?” you whispered.

He whispered, “You. I needed to find you.” The dragons nodded happily, seeming to chatter with each other and then up at the two of you. “I needed to find one who would... find me, accept me.”

He swatted at his dragon. “You should not tell all you know.” It stared up at him with an unrepentant grin of pearly teeth. Then its tongue flicked out and it shook its mane like a cat. “You are a penance by yourself.”

“So, are you learning all of my secrets, too?” You snorted, “Hell of a way to blackmail someone, right?”

He sighed heavily. “No. I am... guarding against learning any secrets that you do not wish to tell me. It is not a difficult thing to learn and I will teach you how.” He stroked your hair slowly. “I will teach you all that you allow me. I will stay by your side, no matter what befalls us. I will protect you, guard you with my life, and offer all I can to you.” 

You sensed more than felt his shudder, as though he was sipping cod liver oil mixed with lemon juice. “I offer you... all that I am, and so, I offer you all of my secrets, too. Anything you wish you know, you can.” One of your hands reached up to stroke his cheek and your fingertips brushed a warm wetness. “I hope that with... with honesty, without reservation, you will... perhaps stay....”

“So... this dragon thing is like... marriage?”

He let out a bitter snort. “No, I do not....”

You were going to ask what he would not do, but your dragon floated up and nuzzled your ear. You listened with curious ears and its voice was like nothing you could describe except that it was there and not there at the same time. “He does not hope so high.”

“What?!” you squawked. Whirling and twisting in his lap, you stared into his face. He was staring resolutely at your tree, a faint flush on his cheeks. “What does he mean?!”

Hanzo snorted again and lazily swatted at your dragon. It dodged and floated up in its ethereal way to perch on your shoulder. “My—no, your dragon is telling secrets.” It nodded with a brush of your hair and what might have been an affirmative hiss. “It means... before you ask and it keeps going, that... I allow you to live freely. Even if you... do not choose to... stay with me, I will remain yours. I commit to you, freely and openly, without... without commitment from you.”

He stretched his arm along the back of your couch and stared at the lit tree. “It is... freely given. I freely give to you.” Finally, he gave some slight softness that was not a smile. “I will do... as you have shown me. To give... freely—without expecting recompense.”

Finally, he spoke again. “It is my gift to you. A thing that cannot be properly wrapped. It cannot be tied in a ribbon. It cannot be held nor passed, but I give it to you.”

Your dragon—fidgety and fickle and tricky thing it was—giggled in a high-pitched way and you almost heard, “Fidelity. The promise of allegiance. A dragon who promises does not break the oath on pain of death.” The second dragon nodded and reached to pat your cheek. “No fear. Do not fear. There is no greater oath.”

You could not help but wrap around him and squirm in his lap to hold on him. He shuddered for a long moment like a tree in a storm that was finally snapping and falling to the ground. Instantly his arms wrapped around you and sent the dragons melting away in a sort of foggy mist.

“I promise this to you. I will not stray from your path and will follow you to the end of my days.”

You nodded with stinging in your eyes. “I... know.”

“Come then,” he murmured. “Let us be happy for Christmas.”


	14. Chapter 14

“Happy for Christmas?” you whimpered against his chest. “I... guess we still have gifts.”

He was pleased with the painting and smiled at the candle. You pulled open the red wrapped gift and found a long string of tightly wrapped scrolls with a golden bell and a red tassel on the bottom.

“The scrolls.” He made a gesture at the door. “They can be hung at your door to protect your house, to herald good fortune and to call for good luck.”

You smiled at him and brushed the lines on your arm absently. The slight giggle in your head made you smirk and he nodded, understanding. “This is my best gift.”

He only gave you a nod. “You have already given me the best gift.”

Of course, the dragons would take this moment to laugh and then start chanting, “Broken arrow! Broken arrow! Broken arrow!”

Hanzo cursed in rapid Japanese, his arm waving out as if he was chasing aside shadows and ghosts. “Silence.”

That made you laugh. They were singing that same thing over and over like demented two year olds. Finally, you said, “What are they talking about?”

He flushed and looked aside. “It is nothing.” Of course, the dragons erupted in myriad protests that ran over each other until they were nearly unintelligible. He smirked, hearing it as well, and rolled his eyes. “Fine. If you wish to know, then I will show you at my apartment.” You nodded. “Let us go.”

You both tugged on clothes and began walking to his apartment. How strange and delightful the evening was as you saw through the eyes of the dragon. The lights of trees in windows sparkled in a new way and the silver and gold spangles seemed to be drawing your gaze and making you itch to go grab them. Still, as the other dragon—and Hanzo—walked further, you were also torn to go bouncing up to them.

At the archer’s apartment, you took off your shoes and settled them beside his automatically. He nodded and pointed towards the scrolls hung up. “As you can see, I, too, have some hung up for luck.”

If the damn dragons hadn’t been singing, you might have made some comment, as it was, you simply looked around. There on the low table was a slick lacquered stand with a single arrow on it. The arrow had snapped in the middle and was held an inch or so apart in perfect alignment. It seemed liked you were expecting it to simply float together and join together in some magical way.

Hanzo smiled and gently touched the fletching with his fingertip. “I knew... then, that you were special. I have kept this to remember the moments in the sun. Each time that I do, I have held hope that we would do it again. That the next time—perhaps my next birthday—we would go to the archery range again. We would go eat together again. We would walk again, together and united.”

“You knew even then,” you whispered. “You... planned this.”

“I merely... hoped we would have another few hours together. But forever? Not until... the... the game,” he whispered in return. His cheeks flamed. “Do you remember?”

“I remember you shoving me behind you and shouting. Trying to flail around and hit—.”

“To hit anyone who would come to harm you.” Rather than lapse into another stilted and anxious silence, he simply became stern and stared at the broken arrow. “Before these silly dragons of ours begin spilling secrets, I will simply tell you. I... wanted to get out of that place. I could not believe that it was... not a threat. I was going to... to die before I submitted—again. And then... I saw you, heard you—and I thought that I knew that the clan had found my weakness. If they had found you, they would... would kill you to force my hand.”

His eyes streamed as he looked up to you with a bloodshot stare. “I... I was... terrified. Even if I had... been captured and left in that room, I could... accept it. I could get out. I could escape. But I would not leave you behind. I would not let the torture you. I would not let them hurt you.”

You let out a soft sound. “I was fine. I am... out of their grasp. It was a game.”

“I... could not see that. I could only see the darkness. The... instruments and chains. It was like I could not recognize where I was.”

You nodded in understanding. “It was not... a great situation, but... I was really hurt when you withdrew from my team. Is this... going to be a constant thing? That you’re going to withdraw entirely if I upset you.”

He bowed low. “I will... show you, if you wish. My dragons both said it was a foolish thing, that I would never see you again if I was not part of your team. That I broke your trust and that I was faithless and did not deserve a... a moment more of your time.” He let out a wavering sigh. “At first, I was... ashamed. A real man should not... fall apart at a game. I was ashamed that you saw me like that. I went to drink and... it was worse because... then I did not want you to see me so weak to be falling over drunk. I sent the paperwork at first out of shame.”

You reached out across the table, fumbling for his hands. “It was... an unfortunate misunderstanding. I never thought that you were weak.”

He gave you a stiff nod, and took your hands around the arrow’s stand. “And then, I thought that... you had chosen to tell Genji everything. I thought that you... were rejecting me. He... did not know. He did not understand.” He squeezed your hands gently. “I thought that he knew—that he knew that I was in the pit and I was trying to find a way to keep him out of there. I thought that he knew that I was... forced. But I also did not want him to know.” He gave a short snort that was nearly overwhelmed by the dragon whimpering in your head. “It is a complicated thing to try to explain. I thought that no one so good could understand. I thought it was impossible for you to choose... just me. I thought that you went to Genji, you preferred him, and that I would not stand in your way.”

You looked down, your eyes filling with tears. “I wanted to understand. And... I got tangled into... whew, a whole bunch more than I bargained for.” He nodded slowly. “He had a lot of... and I mean a lot of issues.” You chuckled, “Then Zenyatta and I talked because I was... was sure you and he were about to explode.”

He nodded slowly. “And what happened then? I... saw him... drunk?”

You let out a snort. “So, did you know that Omnic monks have some training that they experience... well, that they get drunk and high.”

“Nani?!”

Even the dragons went completely silent. “They... do not experience hunger or weariness or anything, but they have simulations to get high and drunk. Zen apparently had quite a habit back in the day.” You gave a watery giggle. “Apparently, Genji was... unaware of this.”

“So, the honorable Omnic monk was... concerned that his student was not properly versed in these things.”

You did laugh. “The honorable Omnic monk had thought that Genji had sufficient experience in his... err... previous life that he did not consider that he thought that this was not an area he needed additional training in.” Your laugh grew quiet and snarky. “And... it went bad.”

He straightened up, his whole body alert. “What happened? Is Genji well?”

“He is... regretting it.” Hanzo did not seem to relax. “It seemed that Genji has gotten... very used to being highly tuned and precise and on the cutting edge. So, when he was... in a month of solid drunkenness and—. He realized that it was making him sick and making him... even worse and he couldn’t take it. He broke away from the training and quit it all.” You puffed out a breath. “I... wanted to help. I wanted... you to feel better. Then when Genji came in again, he was still high and I.... We were talking and... he said that you were on vacations all the time. I didn’t tell him anything, but... I wanted him to think about you. Get over his bitterness and anger and everything. He was so... so angry and everything.”

“I see,” he murmured. “We have been talking. Quite extensively.” 

You puffed out a breath and continued, “I wanted him to... just stop and think. He needed to... move on. I don’t know what he was thinking. He was so angry.” You let out a pause. “I wanted to help, but both of you would stop talking to me and... I didn’t know how.”

“He said so. He said... when we had finally stopped yelling at each other.” He flushed a dark red. “We had spent hours shouting at each other and... and at everything. Hours and hours and.. it was like we were... on the estate again. We were brothers again. It was like... olden times—he was drunk or high or something and I was shouting at him.”

“I’m so sorry....”

“It... needed to happen. It needed to come out and needed to.... Boil over, I suppose. But we finally talked about important things—for the first time in years, perhaps.” He squeezed your hands again. “It did need to happen, hime, for all that it hurt. I needed to know... that I was... I do not have words. I wanted my brother back, too—but I knew of no way to do it.

“And now, I have my brother and I owed you yet again. So, I... spent weeks preparing. I knew that... you were the right one. I knew the dragon would be safe. That you would be safe.” He gave your hands another soft squeeze. “I knew that... I could hope to be next to you perhaps only one more time and that this was the right gift for you.”

He gave you a bashful look and squirmed slightly. “I did not know... we would end up... physically together. I did not hope so high, but I knew that I had a chance to give you a gift. My greatest gift and I would rest easily, knowing you were given my highest protection.” He frowned and stared at you. “Could you forgive an old man for being too prideful to thank you for your help?”

You nodded with tears in your eyes. “It’s okay. If anything helped, I am really glad.” You flushed. “It means a lot that you and he have figured things out better.”

He closed his eyes, unmindful of the silver tears down his cheeks and clinging to the dark hairs on his jaw. “This is so much more than I dared to hope for.” The dragons emerged again, dancing around and appearing to clack their curved claws on the table. “I was content. I was settled that I would not again have a family. I was... determined that I could be alone, that I could be a help to my brother and that I needed nothing more. Now, I have a brother and... I have... a team. I am.... I am... very grateful.”

The dragons nodded and yours began flicking the fine fletching on the end of the arrows. You automatically reached up to pat its paws away. It looked up at you with a roll of its eyes and began tapping the table again in the imitation of an impatient child. You glared at the glowing blue dragon and its rolled its eyes again.

Hanzo’s voice was hoarse and shaky as he whispered, “I want... I want and I want and I want. I sound like a spoiled child that I want more and more.” Agony etched deep lines on his face as he stared steadily at you. “I... want one more thing. I want... to stay.”

“To stay?”

“To stay on... your team.” He shook his head wildly and a fiery color bloomed on his cheeks. “I want to stay with you, next to you. I want this to... to never end. But, I will... be content to remain on your team.”

“Then... stay. Stay on the team.” He seemed to deflate as the anxiety flowed out in a gusty whoosh. “Stay on the team. And... we can see how things progress.”

“You would... let me stay with you? Let me... prove that I am a good man? Then, I have nothing left to wish for.”


	15. Chapter 15

It was honestly not that much of a surprise when Hanzo again transferred from your team some time later. You and he had discussed it for hours as you had walked in parks and eaten together and in the long, lazy times when you were both tangled in sheets and pillows. Like most everywhere, Overwatch officially frowned on a direct supervisor and direct report engaging in a relationship and it was obvious to everyone that you were together.

You were taken out to the archery range as often as he could persuade you to go. You were still the sole, singular and entirely one person that he trusted with the mighty Storm Bow. He imported an entire quiver full of custom made ya just for you. He even bought a recurve bow and a small amount of regular arrows for the express purpose of letting you take them apart and try them out. He was ridiculously generous with his time and energy—staying late with you when you had paperwork or other tasks, bringing you meals when you were working, offering to do random errands and chores, and giving you all the space you needed.

Off the range, you found he had a curious and rather interesting range of skills. He had a collection of small, sharp tools that he used to carve arrows and would occasionally go carve something. He played chess and go and pool. He was amazingly informed about first aid and herbal medicines and traditional medicines—probably a holdover from his days wandering the countryside. He liked making and flying kites that grew more and more elaborate. He could cook—despite not liking his own cooking—but he was gifted with baking and could turn out the most mouthwateringly perfect pastries if he was given time in the kitchen to do them. He read all kinds of books and knew a disturbing amount of detailed information about snakes and herpetology. (Both dragons swore they had nothing to do with that.) He liked unusual baskets and had a collection in shadowed corners of his apartment that seemed to fill up with random shiny things by themselves—especially Genji’s throwing stars.

So, you both agreed that it would be best for him to transfer to another team. It was barely two weeks later that he very quietly took you out to a park with a lake. He had a huge wicker picnic basket filled with all kinds of tasty treats and topped with a soft blanket. There, you both watched the puffy clouds blow by and lazily fed each other bites of cake and chips with dip and little tiny triangles of sandwiches. You had brought out some Japanese beer and a bottle of wine, but it seemed to be almost unnecessary to enjoying the afternoon.

Then, as he seemed to be digging for another of those little sandwiches, he pulled out a small box. He grinned as he handed it to you. Both dragons were chattering on about marriage and surprises—had been for days—so it was not even a surprise until you opened the box. 

It was empty.

You frowned at the box and then smirked up at him. He rolled his eyes and turned red, muttering foul language under his breath. Quite quickly, you both scooped up everything and put it back in the basket and headed back to his place. You both checked the basket in his closet, the basket under his bathroom sink, the basket in the corner of the living room. He checked the basket under the desk in your office and finally the basket you had put in your closet.

Among a dozen shiny buttons, a broken bit of costume jewelry necklace, six shiny rocks, three mismatched cufflinks, a can of sliced peaches, a can of tuna, a pile of hair ties, a DVD, three bullet casings, and nine arrowheads was a beautiful platinum ring with a faintly blueish diamond.

Instantly, both dragons appeared and began chattering at both of you. Neither of them had defined names for themselves, but you sort of knew which one was the one on Hanzo’s arm and which one was on yours, and his began bouncing around like an excited child as the archer slid it on your finger. Before either of you could speak, both dragons began scooping up paw fulls of the little treasures to disappear with them.

“It was in my weapon safe,” he whispered softly. “It was supposed to be in the box and I told them both not to mess with it.”

“They are excited,” you murmured back. “They will settle down eventually.”

“Mmm... then children will make them wild again.”

You nodded with a low laugh. “And when our children have dragons of their own?”

“Then there will be no end to the chaos. These two have no less than ten baskets to horde in. I cannot fathom how many piles of nonsense that they will have when we have more dragons.” He puffed out a breath. “And they will want to play with all of the toys.”

His face became uncertain and his eyes scanned you. “Are you sure, hime? Are you certain you want to be mine?”

“Are you?”

He nodded. “I am always yours. You have brought me out of darkness into light. You have given me back my brother. You have joined my family and shown me light and sweetness and all that is still good.” He brushed a kiss to your brow. “I am in your debt and honored to have you as my—.”

Then there was a crash in the kitchen as your spoons rattled on the floor, but when you got there, not a one could be found.

Not a single spoon anywhere in your apartment.

**Author's Note:**

> To all those who serve their respective countries, thank you. And to all those who experience PTSD or flashbacks—no matter what the reason—I hope that your pain eases and wish you the best.


End file.
